


Metal Heart

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: The Heroes of Midgard [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 174,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've saved the world, but now comes the hard part; surviving each other.  Steve has apologies to make, Bruce has some soul searching to do, and Tony admits, at least to himself, that he is lonely.  But they'd better get their act together soon, because a new enemy is declaring war on mankind... an enemy that Tony Stark is dangerously vulnerable to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Potatoes

It is the simplest equation he’s ever conquered in his life.

And let’s not lie, solving equations is a conquest for him. Each problem is a battle that tests his mettle – some more than others – driving him to work and create the way that war challenges a warrior. It tests his limits, which, of course, he has none, because every time they’re tested he pushes them further and further. If they exist, they’re made of elastic, and tend to bend whenever he puts his mind to it.

Simple equation. Right. Back to that. He’s sitting in his office at some early hour of tomorrow, because anyone who stays up all night knows tomorrow never begins until your head hits the pillow… if it hits the pillow. There’s a plate of food and an empty coffee cup by his elbow; the food is freezing cold and the fork was never moved. Tony is staring the answer to the equation down, and it is staring right back like the proverbial abyss.

It has been… what? Three, four months? Since the Avengers Initiative first succeeded with flying colors and everything has changed. They saved Manhattan – well, he saved Manhattan, but he’ll allow that the others had a hand in saving his life. (Hulk, mostly, and oh did he want to say I told you so but he figured pissing Cap off in front of ‘the other guy’ might not be a good idea). But back on point, everything’s changed, and it’s been bugging him ever since he first figured out everything had changed as to why the change occurred, because there can never be a change without a catalyst. He should know that better than anyone.

Tony leans back in his desk chair, propping his feet up on the table next to cold meat loaf and potatoes, and he stares at the translucent screen which bares both the answer to his question and the irritation currently keeping him awake. The answer’s simple, but he can’t start at the answer, no, he has to reevaluate the equation. Whatever people say about him and his ‘talk now, think later’ policy, when it comes to his work he thinks everything through three times three different ways and then sleeps on it for maybe twenty minutes before realizing he’d been right all along, of course, and plowing ahead.

The equation is, well, it’s theoretical, and Tony doesn’t usually deal with the theoretical, he likes solid math he can mold and touch. But this time he’s working with imaginary things, with scenarios in his head.

There’s always been an ache in his chest where the Arc Reactor currently sits, even before Afghanistan. It was what he now recognizes as emptiness, and even though the reactor saved his life it certainly didn’t fill the hole underneath, where his heart should be. That callow darkness was both his shield and his worst nightmare, and it embodied him; his heartlessness, his lack of emotional attachment to anyone, least of all himself, which was so painful to endure that it often surged out of control and lashed out at others. Of course the blame is on him, he’s a grown man who can control himself – or should – and it was his fault. He just realizes how the math works when he factors in his own lack of responsibility with that previous empty state, in addition to the stress and pain of daily life. Those things together resulted in the mad mess that was Tony Stark, only a few years ago.

Then Afghanistan happened. He used to think of his life as two stages, before and after ‘The Cave’, but since the change he’s started thinking in three’s. That’s beside the point; he’s jumping ahead, one step at a time, Stark. Then Afghanistan happened and the imaginary wall built between him and reality shattered. He had a long heart to heart with his own dickish-ness and realized there had to be some change. Back then, he did the math and figured the odds were low of that happening, ever. But low odds had never stopped him before so he tried, damn it he tried, if anyone can ever say anything of him, it’s that he tried. Those two words ought to be his epitaph.

So there was Afghanistan and Obie and Pepper and ‘I am Iron Man’ and that whole year of madness that was his first year with the suit. Obie. For being a genius, he was an ass at guessing character. It should have been obvious, in retrospect, it was, but he’d wanted to believe so much. Obie was one of his only close… something, one of his people, and to cut him out of his life was to cut Tony’s natural interactions with relatively-friendly individuals down by a third. In the end, Obie had cut him down. That still hurt, and he liked not thinking about it. He used the couch he’d been sitting on when Obie stunned him as target practice.

Tony dubbed that year ‘the year of too many fucking surprises’, because that was when Fury and Vanko and Romanoff and his dad all appeared – or reappeared, as it were – in his life, and he was faced with dying, and then suddenly faced with living again. Not just living, but living with Pepper, and Rhodey didn’t hate him (though he still didn’t give back the suit), and all in all it was a good year despite the clusterfuck it started as.

Of course, if his life has taught him anything, it’s that all good things come to an end, and they come to an end because of Tony Stark. Every equation which adds Tony Stark to anything comes back negative. He and Pepper lasted for a whole year – a year! – before the inevitable end. It was going to happen eventually. Her work as CEO, his work as billionaire genius playboy philanthropist kept them apart, as did physical distance, and emotional. Pepper is perfect in every way, and she deserves so much better than Tony Stark.

Tony Stark + anything else = disaster. Which is why he doesn’t really push Fury when the man tells him Iron man is wanted for the Avengers, but Tony Stark is not recommended. He totally understands – if he could just take the suit and leave Tony Stark behind for a while, for forever, it’d be great. But he wasn’t lying when he said the suit and he were one, and as much as he’d love to just not be himself, he can’t be Iron Man if he’s not himself as well.

Somehow it went from not being on the team, to being on the team. It is baffling to Tony despite how much the equation makes sense (end of the world + need for armored hero = Tony can play with the big boys, now.) He’s still surprised Fury made the call, though certainly he’s made harder calls. But none of that’s the point – the point, is that the change started then. All because some upstart god got it in his horned head to strike a deal with aliens.

There was the Captain, who was at first glance underwhelming but in retrospect, every bit the hero Tony’s father made him out to be. Sure, initially he appeared bland, vague, dull, too concerned with listening to authority, a little less heroic badass and a little more awkward dork, but none of those flaws could compare with Tony’s own, so he’s inclined to forgive the man. Plus – unlike Tony – Steve’s strengths more than make up for any social awkwardness he has, what with his selfless nature, his upstanding moral fortitude, and his uncanny ability to see right through Tony to the ugly truth few ever admitted was there. More than seeing it, Steve had the guts to tell Tony face to face just how little he mattered. Not that that was news to him, or anything. 

Then there was Bruce Banner, Mr. Anger Issues himself, whom Tony was surprised to find he genuinely liked. Ten minutes of trying to provoke him for the hell of it turned into many hours of cheerfully working together. The last time he’d ever been able to talk to anyone on that level that closely, about his work had been Yinsen... Though he didn’t realize it when he offered, Tony really liked the idea of having Bruce around Stark Tower, because he was the kind of guy he could see himself getting on with pretty well. Intelligent, able to put up with his crap surprisingly easy, and anything but boring. He was sort of disappointed when Bruce never showed up those first few weeks. Which was hinting towards the answer to the equation, but not there yet.

There was Thor who, despite the violent introduction, was quite easily one of Tony’s favorites. He liked Bruce for his brain, but he liked Thor for his vibrant persona. The man was hilarious. If ever Tony was to imagine a God in human form, Thor is the opposite of everything his brain could come up with. The guy’s just… he’s hardly the all-powerful, omnipotent deus ex machina Tony would imagine if he ever began imagining that Gods were real in any capacity. Which is half the reason he’s so funny. The other half has to do with his complete obliviousness and naiveté which is so unfitting for a god, and yet, so endearing too.

And Natasha. Ah, Natasha. Tony has known her longest and yet, knows the least about her out of all of them. He finds he has a healthy mix of awe-like respect and healthy fear for her; though if he told anyone that they might laugh. What man fears Black Widow and makes light of the Hulk? A smart man of course, Tony would reply, because anyone with half a brain cell can tell that Hulk is predictable and manageable with the right mindset, where Natasha is furious when unleashed and impossible to fully predict. He’s not sure they’ll ever be on friendly speaking terms but he admires her tenacious cunning.

Then there’s Clint, who Tony knew even less than he knew the others. But for those short hours, Legolas seemed like a nice guy. They both shared a love of snarky humor, though Clint favored a drier, more sharply sarcastic tone where Tony liked to lay it on thick. As far as he could tell, there was nothing about the guy that could keep them from working well together. Well, at least, not on Clint’s end…

So, this strange and awkward team had come together to fight a god and his alien army and had somehow, against all odds, won. Then, just as suddenly as they’d come together, they’d fallen apart again in not a week. Ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice, but no longer close by. Thor had returned home with Loki, Natasha and Clint disappeared back into the misty maze of intrigue that was S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve was… somewhere, and Bruce ran off to hide on another continent.

And Tony is here, sitting next to cold potatoes, staring at his computer screen with narrowed, tired eyes. The only lights in the room are coming from the screen itself, and from the flashlight permanently imbedded in his chest. He is reviewing the data and coming to the same conclusion again, and he does not like the conclusion.

On the screen is a website showing the day’s biggest news topic. It is innocuous, bland even. He’s not even really processing what the article’s about; he’s just noticing what it’s not about. There’s no global catastrophe, no alien invasion, no madman running around proclaiming himself god. The world is peaceful today.

And it is pissing him off.

Which leads to him looking over the data again, examining his own conclusions and his – eck – emotions, and realizing there is only one thing that this could all mean. The events of the past months, hell, the past few years, in addition to how everything played out and how he feels about this, can only add up to equal one thing.

Tony Stark is lonely.

And he is really, truly, sincerely wishing the world would get itself into some sort of horrible trouble, the kind of trouble which requires Avenging, because he would much rather have a legitimate, much less pathetic reason for reuniting with the others than just missing them.

He does miss them, and it bothers him that he misses them, because Tony Stark never misses anyone. He doesn’t miss Rhodey because he knows his friend will always come back after his tour of duty, he doesn’t miss Pepper because she’s always one phone call away. Stark doesn’t miss people. Missing people is for misanthropic teenage sob stories who like to pretend that wishing for something really hard will make it happen. Tony is pointedly ignoring that he is currently making wishes himself.

The problem is, he doesn’t know that he’ll ever see the other Avengers again. What if Thor can’t come back from Asgard, or just chooses not to? What if Bruce vanishes, swallowed up by the chaos of the world, moving from one trouble spot to the next? What if Natasha and Clint remain entangled in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s web forever? And Steve… what if Steve just doesn’t enter into the new world?

Realistically, Tony realizes the world will be in trouble again, soon, but for once his mind is being overpowered by the strangling, suffocating feeling of doubt. Tony Stark doesn’t doubt. The word isn’t even in his vocabulary, except, it is now, because he’s doubtful that he’ll ever see those people again.

He tries to convince himself that this is all ridiculous and he could be working on a thousand projects that don’t include staring at a computer screen like a forlorn lover. He even imagines he would be better off sleeping, which is something Tony Stark rarely admits. But he can’t shake this off. 

For years, emptiness filled him with cold and ice; after Afghanistan, he began to chip away at that feeling, working hard to be a different person. But now, after the change, he feels that emptiness again. Not because he’s regressing to the person he was – but because, for the first time in many years, he is looking at his life and realizing just how very empty it is. He is realizing this in the way only a man who had that emptiness filled to the brim, and then suddenly emptied again, can.

-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-==-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--=-=

Thud. Thud. Thud. BAM.

Steve hardly notices he’s shattered another punching bag. His eyes catch the sand spilling across the floor, but he doesn’t really think about it. His mind is a thousand miles away. He’s in another time; though, for once, it’s not seventy years ago. No, the Captain is stuck on one forty-eight hour period, four months ago, during which he made many assumptions and just as quickly had those assumptions shattered. Like the bag, cracked wide open, it’s filling spilled across the floor, his presumptions had been torn apart.

Hardly breaking a sweat, Steve bends over to pick up another bag then sets it on the hook. He falls back into the motions, each punch bringing back a moment, a photograph of a memory, each motion pulling him back into thought.

It is only after his teammates left that Steve realized he owed quite a few of them an apology.

Thud. Banner wonders what Fury’s thinking, keeping him in a submarine. Thud. Banner is holding the staff, staring them all down, angry but lacking green eyes. Thud. Banner is driving up on a dingy little motorcycle, taking all but one of them by surprise. 

Steve had thought he’d accepted Banner when they first met. He’d felt guilty in a way, since the formula which made him is the same one which unmade Dr. Banner and tore him in two. What he didn’t realize was that, the whole time he was ‘accepting’ Banner, he was pushing the Hulk away, and to try and tear the two apart is futile. They are one, even if they aren’t the same, and it wasn’t until that final battle that Steve realized that, and realized what he’d inadvertently been doing in his treatment of Banner.

Thud. Iron man is touching down in Germany, his arsenal aimed at Loki. Thud. Stark is tempting fate with Dr. Banner in the lab. Thud. Stark’s voice says ‘Keep me posted’ through the com, still believing Banner will come. THUD – crash!

Without pause, Steve replaces the bag and gets back to work. Tony Stark. While he owes the man an apology, he cannot help but be thoroughly aggravated by him as well. It’s not all Tony’s fault, though undoubtedly, a lot of it is. It’s just that, Tony is like Howard in so many ways and unlike him in so many others; and it seems unfair to haunt him with a ghost from his past that also happens to have the tact and delicacy of a rhino. Steve isn’t especially fond of Tony, but he knows he was unfair to him when they first met.

He realized that he’s not as good a judge of character as he’d thought as soon as Tony told them about the missile and declared his intent on what to do with it. He realized, in that moment, that a man he’d thought was the most selfish, self-centered asshole on the planet was about to give his life to save Manhattan and the lives of everyone there – their lives. He realized that Howard Stark’s son was about to die saving his life.

He knows now that he was unfair to Stark, and as deserving as he is of criticism in many areas, he isn’t the man Steve thought he was. His initial disappointment in the man Howard’s son had become is alleviated, even if Tony does make an ass of himself whenever possible. Steve realizes Tony’s not as bad as he’d like people to think he is.

Thud. Thor is quick to say Loki was adopted. Thud. Natasha is giving him a nod in greeting and pointedly ignoring him in a way that says she’s not impressed by his very presence the way many are. He likes that. Thud. Clint is preparing for battle, telling Thor to get in line behind him for vengeance against Loki.

He realizes now that he was somewhat unfair to all of them, though mostly to Bruce and Tony. He’d dismissed Thor immediately after hearing he was a ‘God’, because how could that be true? Natasha and Clint were both good soldiers, but he’d distanced himself from them just like the rest. He’d taken to doing that after waking up; it was hard to take everything in, and being around others who’d lived all these years made it that much harder.

He thinks he wouldn’t mind seeing them again, especially since he owes at least half of them an apology – won’t that be fun, he thinks, imagining Stark – and he honestly didn’t mind working with them. They made a good team and they got the job done. Though next time they go out to eat after a mission, he’s not letting Tony pick the place.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-=-

It is two days later, and Tony is tinkering. He realizes he’s not alone, and the fact that he didn’t hear a single thing when the person entered the room tells him exactly who it is.

“You know, one of these days I’m going to install a security system that works,” Tony mumbles. “Maybe include some lasers, heat rays, a device that senses the amount of eyeballs on the person entering the room.” He slides out from under the car, looking up to the one-eyed man leaning on his vintage vehicle. “It’d hardly stop you, but it might give you a headache and I am just petty enough to take pleasure in that.”

“You give me enough headaches, Stark,” Fury replies with no venom, just as unreadable as ever. He doesn’t say anything else, which strikes Tony as odd, since if Fury is anything, he is frank and to-the-point.

“So…” Tempted to simple slide back under the car, Tony remains where he is for another minute. “Is this just a friendly visit, you missed me, wanted to have a chat, because if that’s so then who are you and what did you do with –“

Then Fury draws an envelope out of his jacket and shoves it at Tony. The man is taken off guard, at first, taking the envelope as if it might be another disaster about to assault the world. But then he opens it, and reads it and all the snarky humor fades from his face. Fury watches with something almost like sympathy but he never says a word. Tony mumbles something like an affirmative and the man leaves, allowing Tony to sulk in his misery with no remorse.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-

Phil Coulson’s funeral happens on a cloudy day bereft of sunshine. It is a small gathering; he had no family, no friends outside the organization. The only civilian present at the event is the Cellist he’d been dating. Everyone else is S.H.I.E.L.D., or an Avenger.

This is not the way Tony imagined he’d meet them again, but that’s not on his mind right now. His mind is stuck on rewind, revisiting all those innocuous moments, those short conversations he’d had with Coulson. They’d never been close, never gotten the chance, and Tony blames Loki for that. He might’ve understood the guy a little, even realized they had some uncanny similarities, but Loki killed Coulson and that is that.

There’s more Avengers there than he’d have thought; Thor is there, dressed in his usual garb, which would have been insulting from anyone else. The Cap is there, Tony realizes begrudgingly, and he purposefully puts some space between himself and the hero. If that space means Tony is standing next to Bruce, that’s just a happy accident. The man looks healthier than he has in a while, and Tony nudges the man a little. It’s not so much playful as it is comforting. At least, that’s what he hopes it conveys, because anything more overt is… not his style. 

A priest begins to speak and Tony mostly drowns him out. He thinks of patterns and mathematics, of inequalities. He thinks of how the world has lost Coulson, and yet he is still here… he tries not to think like that anymore, but years of practice make it inevitable. 

He’s not sure how long he’s lost in thought, though no one is speaking when he looks up next. The priest has departed, the coffin has been lowered. Tony sees Steve step forward, his eyes staring at his hands. At first, he doesn’t realize, but then he remembers the cards covered in blood. Steve is holding one in his hand, before he kneels and lets it fall into the grave. It is signed.

Tony turns at that moment and stalks off. He hates funerals and he’s not sure why he came to this one, since half the people there hate his guts or are at least indifferent to him, and the man they’re burying was never very fond of him either. To be honest, he’s not sure where his own fondness for the man came from, in-between interrupting his meetings and his dates and refusing to back down. He admires – admired – something in the agent and deeply regrets that he never had the chance to know him better. Of course, his own feelings about Coulson’s death are all wrapped up in himself, and Tony feels a fresh stab of self-loathing.

If someone is calling him, he doesn’t hear it over his angry inner monologue, and is only pulled out of it when a hand falls upon his shoulder. Startled, Tony spins around and is face to face with Bruce Banner.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=--=-=-=-=-==-

Life has been… odd, since the Avengers. The whole Avengers fiasco was odd in and of itself, but it is the repercussions of that day that stay with Bruce. Life has changed since then.

Most of it – well, he’ll say all of it – is thanks to one man. Tony Stark. Bruce imagines that if Tony hadn’t been on that helicarrier, events would never have played out as they had. He’s not sure how they both became so endeared to the man, but the fact remains that Tony was the driving force behind Bruce returning to the field, behind the Hulk managing to work with a team. In the aftermath, when he was told about how close Tony had come to dying and how the other guy had saved him, he began to wonder if Tony had been right all along. From that thought, came two realizations: the Hulk was capable of more than destruction; and Tony was a very rare kind of person, the kind who could earn the other guy’s respect.

Bruce feels more at peace with himself than he has in his whole life. He is beginning to understand his nature, and the Hulk’s, and learning how to balance both. He never forgot Tony’s words to him about the terrible privilege, or the sight of that blue light radiating from Tony’s chest. Though he doesn’t fully have a handle on it yet, he’s getting better at appreciating that Hulk might have a purpose in this world.

When Tony approaches him at the funeral, he smiles a little, glad that whatever small bond they’d forged before wasn’t gone after the end of that day. When Tony nudges him, he has to restrain a laugh. There are no words for how much he appreciates how naturally Tony treats him. Most people tip toe around him, trying to act natural but always on edge, nervous. Tony is so completely relaxed around him that it’s almost stupid – but as history has shown, both Bruce and the other guy are fond of him, so perhaps he’ll be fine.

After the funeral, Tony turns and storms away so fast Bruce’s head spins. The man turns, sees Tony stalking away with his long coat trailing behind him, and before he realizes what he’s doing he’s running after him. He’s not sure what he’ll say or do, but he can’t just stand there and watch him leave. 

Bruce calls for Tony as discretely as he can – this is a funeral after all – but the man either doesn’t hear or doesn’t heed him. So he catches up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, tugging lightly to get him to turn around. When he does, Bruce meets his eyes. There’s a look there, a soreness like a wound that hasn’t healed, but it vanishes before Bruce can blink.

“Bruce, hey, how’re you? Still living on the run? How is ‘cave, sweet cave’?”

Bruce smirks at him, noticing the distraction for what it is, but he doesn’t pry. “Just fine. I even drew a cave painting of you on my wall to remember all the fun we had together.”

“Hopefully I am very dashing, as far as stick figures go.”

“Of course.” He’s grinning now, and he feels a little guilty since the mood had been so somber a moment before. But he realizes that Tony needs this, this levity, so he allows himself to goof off a little. “And how’ve you been?”

“Oh…” Tony leans back, letting out a huff of air. “The usual, you know. Building things, destroying things, living in a huge, empty mansion all by my lonesome… y’know I should really look into fixing that, I mean, I use so little space – maybe I could rent out some rooms, start a motel –“

He knows where this is going. “Tony.”

The billionaire’s face is the picture of innocence; he throws his hands out like he’s surrendering. “Just a thought. Suggestion. Planning out loud. Y’know, at this hypothetical motel, I could totally build some rooms for relaxing, or smashing, letting out steam –“

“Tony.”

“We could call it the ‘Green Room’-“

“Building a motel and letting me rent one of the rooms would be the worst idea.”

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” The look on his face is almost calculating, but it’s still playful. “Which is exactly why I’ll just build you your own wing of the mansion, complete with Smashing room and a state-of-the-art lab –“

Bruce sighs as Tony rambles on, feeling both exasperated and touched by his friend’s persistence. “Really, Tony, I can’t –“

“Sure you can.” His tone is a little more pleading now. “You could at least try, for a while. Give it a test run. … Please.”

Until that last moment, that last word, they’d been talking as usually, even goofing around a little. But Tony Stark never says Please, ever, and that word sends a thrill of shock through Bruce. With narrowed eyes, he examines his friend’s face. Tony is trying to hide a wince, obviously not having planned to ask nicely and a little embarrassed that his polite side had slipped out… or something similar to that.

There’s something in his tone, something in that word, that makes Bruce think of the situation differently. Before, it was just Tony testing fate, trying to get him to go along with his crazy schemes. But now he’s said please. And now, Bruce staying at the mansion means something different, something… something he’s not sure he understands just yet. But there’s only one way to find out.

“All right,” Bruce mumbles his voice low and dry. “All right. One try. The first hiccup and I’m gone.”

Tony’s face lights up like the sun.


	2. Drawing Monkies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is settling in at Stark Tower, and Pepper is trying to get used to the idea that Tony has friends. Steve, meanwhile, feels he has no one at all.

It’s been a week since Bruce Banner moved into Tony’s mansion, and Pepper Potts is still in awe.

Usually, when Tony does something odd or weird or bad, there’s a precedent for it. If he’s drinking, it’s likely something has been weighing heavy on his mind, probably something depressing, and there’s a fifty percent chance it has to do with his father. If he’s been overly snarky and pissing everyone off, he’s trying to keep them from figuring something out, something that is clear as day if you know how to look.

But there is no precedent for bringing home super hero scientists, giving them a lab and a room to crash in after work. 

Pepper has never known Tony to be trusting or friendly to, well, anyone, so when the Avengers thing first happened and Tony couldn’t stop talking about Bruce, she dismissed it as a scientist thing. She figured Tony must’ve been really impressed with some of Bruce’s work.

But being impressed with his work does not mean giving him a place to live in Tony’s house. Hiring him, maybe, but making him a roommate is a few steps further. This has never happened before. Lovers have come and gone, and the only friend that has ever stayed the night was Rhodey. 

When she met Bruce, Pepper wasn’t sure what to expect, but the demure, calm, friendly man she met is not who she imagined. If she were honest, she’d admit she was imagining a clone of Tony, someone who reminded him of himself so much that keeping him around was either a form of masturbation or narcissism. But Bruce doesn’t seem to be like Tony at all; he’s level-headed, hardly daring or reckless, and studious. Pepper shook his hand and introduced herself, watching him carefully, and all he did was give a small smile and promise to not make a mess. 

It is only later that Pepper realizes Bruce must’ve thought she was staring because of the Hulk. No, she’s really not too concerned about that for multiple reasons. She’s staring because Tony has a friend. A real, actual friend he didn’t bribe, blackmail, or pay off. Someone who apparently is willing to live with the man 24/7. And someone that Tony is willing to live with, too.

No, she doesn’t stare at Bruce because she’s terrified he’s about to go green at any moment. She stares at Bruce because she’s terrified he – and any trace of Tony having a normal, healthy friendship – will vanish at any moment.

-=-==-=-=-==--=-=-=-=-=--=--=-

It has been a whole week, and Bruce has yet to destroy Tony’s home.

Though his control has improved vastly since his initial debut as the green giant, he’s still a little shocked something hasn’t happened yet. His luck doesn’t usually hold out this long. Though Tony has insisted multiple times that, if the other guy does make an appearance, he can easily pay to repair the damage, Bruce is not comforted. He’s more afraid of the damage which can’t be repaired.

The man sighs and removes his glasses, fiddling with them so he’ll have something to do with his hands. He was working, but now his mind has wandered to dark places and he’s finding it hard to concentrate. The door to his room slides open and he barely hears it, which is a hint to just how far inside his own mind he’s gone.

“Knock, knock,” It’s Tony’s voice, of course. Bruce shouldn’t be surprised, but he is, just a little. Spinning around in his chair, he places his glasses back where they were and looks at his… friend?

“Hey, Tony,” He smiles. “What brings you up out of your lair?”

The other man smirks good-naturedly, though his tone feigns annoyance. “It is not a lair – heroes don’t have lairs.” He saunters forward, leaning his hip against Bruce’s desk. “And why can’t I simply visit my greatest friend in the whole world?”

Bruce starts laughing and shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m your only friend.”

“Completely untrue, an utter falsehood – I can call up at least two hundred people who will say ‘I am happy to by Tony Stark’s friend’,” For effect, he pulled his touch phone out of his pocket, sliding his thumb across the surface.

“Uh huh. And how many of them are not ass kissers?”

“Just Rhodey. He never had it in him – and they do so like ass-kissing in the military.” He sighed forlornly, tucking the phone away. “But what was I saying? Ah!” He clapped his hands suddenly, and if not for Bruce’s training, the man heartbeat might’ve jumped. “I am here to invite you down for dinner, but if you are much too busy poking holes into my social life –“

“Sorry, sorry Tony,” He laughs, standing as he does. “Just good fun.” The way Tony smirks back tells him the other is unbothered, as usual.

They head downstairs together, still trading good natured barbs, with Tony taking the lead. Bruce isn’t quite sure he remembers how to get to the kitchen – this mansion is like a maze – so he lets Tony take point as they walk.

There’s a delicious smell wafting down the hall, so Bruce figures they’re headed the right way. They head through a double door into a lavish kitchen/dining room, which is both Spartan and futuristic in its appearance. 

“Spagetti and meatballs…” Bruce gives a little chuckle, crossing his arms and pausing just inside the doorway. As the chuckle dies away, he gives a soft sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I had pasta.”

Tony hasn’t stopped moving; he’s approaching the kitchen, opening drawers and digging around. Bruce watches, fairly sure the man hasn’t been in his own kitchen in years. A smile comes over his face as Tony curses and digs through three cabinets before finding the plates.

Bruce approaches to help, but Tony lets out a string of noises that aren’t really words and throws his hands up to keep Bruce at bay. Eventually, Tony’s got the forks, knives, plates, napkins, and glasses all arranged on the counter, and he’s looking pretty pleased with himself.

“Well,” He says, “Now you can remember again, ‘cause we’re having it.” He picks up a plate, approaches the food… and realizes there is no serving utensil, and there doesn’t appear to be one anywhere within the kitchen. “Ah, shit!”

Bruce can’t help it – he’s trained to hold down anger, but happiness is a very different feeling, and he can’t keep the laughter from bursting from his chest.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Pepper has come across many things whilst working for Tony Stark. Entering the mansion and heading towards his lab, she finds herself hearing something she’s rarely heard in his home: laughter.

She changes course, following the sound, carefully approaching the partially opened doors that lead to the kitchen. There’s conversation, which she doesn’t really follow, interspersed with chuckles and chortles, which are reminiscent of boys at a sleepover. She inches towards the door and glances through, and sure enough, there is Tony Stark, with his new roommate.

They’re not at the dining table, which is at this point mostly decoration; they’re sitting at the counter, across from each other, talking about something that mostly flies over Pepper’s head, but she assumes it’s a scientist joke of some kind. She’s not really listening. She’s paying attention to Tony’s relaxed posture, to the bags under his eyes which are always there but seem lighter now. Bruce, too, seems relaxed and at ease. Usually when she sees him he is tight, restrained, as if he’s afraid of touching anything. But every so often at the counter, Bruce and Tony’s knees will brush and neither seems to care.

Tony’s eyes are full of light when he turns and notices her, and recognition passes through them. Not recognition of her, but recognition that she’s seen something new in him, something he’s not even defined yet. She steps through the door with a smile, announcing her presence with the click-clack of heels on tiles.

“Good evening, Tony, Dr. Banner,” She smiles at him, and the shy man – now a little more reserved – smiles back. 

“Please, call me Bruce, Ms. Potts.”

“Then call me Pepper, Bruce,” She looks behind them to the kitchen, to the dirty pots and pans, then back at Tony with a quirked eyebrow. “Cooking, Mr. Stark?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, not me. You know I can’t cook water.”

“So…” She glances at Bruce, who shrugs. 

Tony’s now looking at his plate, avoiding eye contact. “That was the chef, of course.”

“The chef?” Pepper turns to him, grinning, a thrill of amusement running through her. “I wasn’t aware you had a chef.”

“Just hired them. Great at making spaghetti, want to try some?” He turns to her now, his eyes pleading, but she just grins wider.

“And where is this chef, now?”

“Um, they are – they were fired. Today. Difference of opinion. They thought mushrooms were a suitable addition to spaghetti, I vehemently disagreed, and they reluctantly agreed to cook mushroom-less spaghetti, but were so distraught at being forced to make what was, to them, sub-par pasta, they quit.”

“I thought you said they were fired.” That was Bruce, who had a skeptical look on his face.

“Fired, yes, I tried to fire them because having a chef who thinks mushrooms are suitable for ingestion is dangerous, but they had already walked out.” He scoffed dramatically, stuffing more pasta in his mouth. 

Pepper was beaming, grinning ear to ear, when Bruce looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow. She didn’t know if he knew just how out of character it was for Tony to cook and to actually stop and have dinner, especially for a friend, but Pepper knew. 

“All right then…” She nodded, turning on her heel. “I’ll just leave you boys to it.” She shouted a few directions at Tony as to their plans for the next day, and he shouted an affirmative as she headed for the front door. The smile didn’t leave her face.

I can’t believe it, Pepper thought as she headed into the garage. Tony Stark is willing to cook for Bruce Banner.

And though one might not realize it yet, and the other might never admit to it, that means a whole hell of a lot of something.

-=-==-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--=--=-=-=--

Even in his apartment, Steve feels out of place. Antiquated. Outdated. He is older than everything in the room; he remembers the precursors to the technology around him, but hasn’t the faintest knowledge how to use any of the gadgets to their fullest potential.

Some things, though, haven’t changed; in his hands, he holds a simple pencil, and balanced on his lap is a small sketchpad. He’s glad that this hasn’t gotten more futuristic, more fanciful. Though he knows art has evolved and there are more technologically advanced ways to draw now, he prefers this. It feels… familiar. Holding a sketchbook and pencil is like holding a piece of home.

His apartment is depressingly Spartan; there is a tan couch and a coffee table, and two bookshelves, relatively filled with books. He’s working on improving his collection. There’s a coffee machine in the kitchen, and a phone, and the laptop that Fury gave him. It’s hardly homey, but it works fine.

Steve sits at the couch, his legs pulled together and in, the sketchpad on his knees. An hour ago, when he started, he wasn’t really sure what he was drawing. That was often the case; he’d sit in front of a blank piece of paper and simply let his feelings fall upon the page. Now he was doing the same.

In the top corner was a small, simplified version of Ironman, streaking majestically across the sky. His armor gleamed, and his visor was lifted to reveal a charming smile. On the bottom right, standing on the ground, was a monkey in Captain America’s armor, shoulders slouched, the shield fallen useless at his side. Steve is working on the edges of the shield.

It’s not the first picture he’s drawn since awaking. First, he tried drawing Peggy from memory, then Bucky, then a bunch of faces from his past, most crudely drawn and half finished. He’d given up halfway through shading Dr. Erksine. 

Next, he’d drawn a picture of Nick Fury, standing imposingly in the distance, framed by tall buildings and bright lights and futuristic – if badly drawn – cars. Monkey Steve was the in opposite corner, eyes wide and mouth gaping at… everything. He’d tried drawing other members of the Avengers, their faces, their poses. He drew the Hulk catching Ironman, Natasha and Clint standing back to back… he drew Coulson smiling. He’s been drawing a lot lately.

Sighing, Steve sets the pad and pencil on the table and lifts a hand to his head, rubbing his brow. What has become of him, that he spends all his time hiding in his apartment or in the training room at SHIELD headquarters? That he uses his free time between saving the world to draw depressing pictures and punch punching bags until they break? He’s not even been reading much, though he wants to, because he simply can’t set the real world aside long enough to escape into a book.

Reality is weighing heavy upon him. Both the memories of the past and the heavy presence of the present are shaking him. He has a foot in both worlds, and can’t fully move into either. He’s not ready to let go of his world, his life that he always knew, because it was his life dammit! And though he’d like to move forward, he’s not quite ready to embrace everything this strange, fast, lonely new century has to offer.

Letting go means moving on, and moving on means forgetting the ghosts of the past, the shades of people he knew before who are now long since dead. But it also means admitting that he’s alone, that he has no one. Everyone from his life before is gone, and everyone new in his life really doesn’t care about him.

Fury is a good man, and a fine soldier, but there’s no real relationship there. Fury is constantly away and constantly busy, and has more to worry about than whether or not Steve is settling in fine. And the other Avengers? Steve snorts. No. He has no friends there either, not that he blames them.

Steve stands and enters his kitchen, going for the fridge. As he does, he dwells on his comrades, his fellow soldiers. Tony Stark’s words – we are not soldiers! – ring through his head.

The man is right. They aren’t soldiers, and Steve is, he is the one soldier on a team of spies, gods, and scientists, and he doesn’t fit. Sure, he’s team leader somehow, and they did manage to save the world, but while everyone else walked off into their happy ending, Steve returned to an empty apartment and emptier memories.

Tony Stark almost died, but he didn’t; he got up from the battle that day and returned to his empire, ready to whittle away his hours working on the answers to the world’s energy crises and it really shouldn’t, but it does bug Steve that that ass is saving the world both in the suit and out, and here is Steve. Drawing.

Then there’s Banner, who everyone thought had finally gone off the deep end, but who is apparently now more stable than ever, and happily employed with Stark. There’s Natasha and Clint, who were reunited and sent back to work, able to enjoy each other’s company and killing bad guys, perhaps at the same time. Thor returned home to his people, but only after going to see the scientists he’d made friends with during his first visit to Earth.

And Steve is here. He has no work to do. He has no friends to fight alongside or create with, no one to visit, no home to return to. He has a small, hardly decorated apartment with some bookshelves and a sketchpad. Steve gives up on finding something to eat in the fridge, his hunger vanishing as the heavier weight of depression settles on him. He looks up and wonders if anything ever changed at all. Sure, he became strong enough to fight bullies, he managed to do some good things – but he didn’t change, not really. 

He simply became a different kind of invisible.

\--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-

It’s been two weeks since ‘the cooking incident’, as Tony refers to it, and everything they’ve eaten since has been ordered in. Seeing as he had to fire the chef, homemade meals are now out of reach, which is why they’ve had a lot of pizza and fast food recently. (That’s his story and Tony’s sticking to it.)

He’s been working non-stop the past few days though, so Bruce has been eating alone – and he totally feels no guilt about that, no, not at all – but he can’t just quit, he is so close to… to something…

To be honest, he can’t really remember what the original plan for this thing was, just that it is going to be the coolest thing (since his last coolest thing) and he’s relatively close to having it working, if only he could finish a few calculations… but the calculations are taking longer than usual and that might have to do with the fact that he keeps adding wrong. He sees the number 2 five times and it takes him a minute to realize that his vision is doubling. Or… whatever the word is for making five of something.

Coffee. “More coffee,” he mumbles aloud, leaning back and rubbing his head, the chair beneath him creaking. Tony forces himself to stand and approaches the counter where the coffee machine is, throwing up a threatening hand as Dummy’s head lifts. “Don’t even think about touching anything when I am this close or I will let Bruce hulk out and smash you.” Again, he’s really unsure of what he’s close to, and he thinks he should probably remember that. Whatever, he’ll just finish the work and then figure out what the hell he’s created once he’s done.

He pours a little too much coffee into the mug, leaves the spill on the counter and approaches his work again. As he does, JARVIS speaks above him.

“Sir, Dr. Banner is looking for you. He is currently heading towards your bedroom, but I am sure his search will eventually lead him here.”

Tony thinks JARVIS is trying to tell him something, but he just shrugs and sits back down, taking a long swig of the coffee. “Mm, that’s fantastic.” He’s back at the numbers, messing with amounts and chemicals and percentages, and he’s so into it that he doesn’t hear the knocking at the door ten minutes later.

“Sir, Dr. Banner is at the door. Shall I let him in?”

Tony thinks for a sec – which is really longer than usual since he’s thinking rather slowly right now – and figures he’s far along enough in his work to show it off. “Sure, let him in,” Tony waves his hand in the air as a greeting as the other scientist walks in.

“Hey Tony,” Bruce says to Tony’s back, and Tony grunts. “What are you working on?”

“Hell if I know,” He mumbles under his breath, but not as quietly as he thinks. Sitting up, he stands with his coffee and approaches the other. “It’s uh… a… thing.” He nods towards it.

“A thing?” Bruce quirks an eyebrow, glances at the coffee and then at the ‘thing’. “That’s descriptive.”

“I’m still – I’m still working out the… purpose.” Tony nods as if this is normal, taking another sip. “Right now, it’s in the… ‘why not’ stage.”

“’Why not’ stage?”

“Yeah, as in, ‘why not make this mystery creation’? It’s like a surprise, only more useful.” Bruce chuckled a little, but he fell quiet as he examined Tony’s face. 

“Tony, when was the last time you slept?”

“That depends. What day is it?” Bruce frowns, and opens his mouth to say something, but then a shrill whistle erupts from the place where Tony’s mystery creation is sitting. Suddenly, Tony’s eyes go wide and he’s more awake than he’s been all day; he’s realizing that it should’ve been a 6, not a 9. He knows it’s going to explode a second before it does, drops his coffee, and throws himself both on top of and in front of Bruce Banner.

BOOM.


	3. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark is trapped inside his burning house, and there's only so much time left to save him. Though, everyone should really have remembered that Tony is hardly alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left feedback and kudos so far, you're all wonderful! In this chapter, we finally start to explore the second pairing in this story, and I hope you all enjoy the build-up. Thanks for reading~!

Tony wakes up in stages. His first thought is a string of angry curses, lamenting his own stupidity and bad luck. The second is a sharp stab of worry for Bruce, who he thinks is still beneath him, but he’s not quite lucid enough to check.

“B… Bruce?” He coughs, and the motion sends pain racing down his body. “SHIT – ah, fuck!” He’s going to have some nasty bruises, not to mention burns on his back, no doubt. More coughs. “Bruce, where are –“

The ground beneath him is moving and Tony wonders if his accident was worse than he thought. Did he start an earthquake, a landslide? But then he realizes that what’s beneath his hands doesn’t feel like ground… it’s very hard, yes, but it rises and falls… confused, Tony forces his eyes to open.

Green. He is on a green chest, which he totally should’ve figured out is what would happen. Tony’s eyes lift and meet a pair of burning green irises, which stare him down. Tony tries cracking a smile. “Damn, I should’ve hidden behind you,” He murmurs, before more coughs hit him. Again he curses his idiocy and even feels a little embarrassed that his worry, his feelings, had so clouded him that the logical conclusion didn’t occur to him. 

He tries lifting his head to see the damage, but that hurts his back worse; a sharp cry of pain escapes him and he falls back down onto the Hulk. He thinks he hears the guy grunt or something, but his ears are ringing and he can’t tell. Through narrowed eyes, he looks to his left and sees fire, debris, and a whole lot of mess.

“JARVIS… how bad is it?” He mumbles. “… JARVIS?” That’s odd; he should reply right away. Surely the damage wasn’t so bad that…

CREAK, RUMBLE, RUMBLE. Tony’s breath catches, and he turns onto his back despite the pain just in time to see the ceiling tumbling down towards them.

-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=--=--=-=-=-=--

Hulk and Bruce agree on very little, but on one thing, there is no argument: they both like Tony Stark.

Hulk likes Tony, because Tony looks at Bruce and sees both sides. He doesn’t want Bruce to control Hulk, and he doesn’t want Hulk around as a weapon to be locked away when he’s not useful. But most of all, Hulk looks at Tony and there is no fear. Tony trusts Bruce, and he trusts Hulk. 

There is only one other who trusts Hulk. Everyone else calls him monster. Hulk doesn’t care. But Tony is different, and Tony makes Bruce happy, and he gives him a place to stay, and doesn’t try to lock them away or experiment on them. He isn’t afraid and he isn’t trying to use them. 

Tony is good, but he’s still puny. Even when he wears the metal, he’s weak. Easy to kill.

Good thing Hulk not so easy to kill.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=--==-

Pepper had been on her way to Tony’s house to prepare for a meeting later that day; when she sees smoke rising in the distance she slams the pedal down and floors it. Her heart is hammering in her chest and a thousand different explanations race through her head and she weighs the probabilities and necessary responses. 

She’s getting closer and that’s a lot of smoke. Pepper reaches into her pocket on auto-pilot, wishing she had a number for SHIELD or Fury or someone, and she knows Rhodey’s still out of the country, and she’d really rather not call outside help before she knows what’s going on. But she needs somebody, anybody, just to feel like she’s not tackling this alone because she knows it’s very possible that some super-baddy has invaded Tony’s house and is currently trying to kill him, and for all her many talents, fighting bad guys is not one. 

Suddenly, she remembers: one number tucked away in her contacts for emergencies. She is fairly certain this counts as one.

-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Steve is learning quite a lot about the future. In fact, he has just learned that people really hate it when cell phones go off in the movie theater. He feels really bad, and he knows he was supposed to turn it off, but he didn’t know how and he didn’t think anyone would actually call him. Unless, you know, it was a dire situation.

So he stands and hurries out of the room, as popcorn is thrown at him and people sneer, and he apologizes at least ten times before he’s out of the darkness and in the hall.

He doesn’t recognize the number; he puts it to his ear anyway. “Uh… hello?”

“Steve! It’s Pepper Potts, Tony’s – um, friend!” She sounds out of breath and that puts Steve on edge.

“Is something wrong? Is Mr. Stark okay?” He can’t bring himself to say Tony, as if he’s close to the man, but Mr. Stark sounds wrong, too. 

“I don’t know, I’m driving towards his house and it’s on fire! I don’t know what happened and he isn’t answering my texts and he never misses a text!” Steve’s not sure what a text is, but he takes Pepper’s word for it.

“I’m on my way.” The conversation ends and Steve shoves the phone in his pocket as he barrels towards the parking lot. He’s a little bummed that he won’t find out if Sam saves Carly and stops Sentinel Prime, but he knows this is more important. And it’s not as if he’d really been able to follow the movie, since he’d realized a few minutes into it that it was a sequel to something he hadn’t seen. On top of that, the movie had thrown him more than a few history curveballs: like the fact that human kind had been on the moon; and that they had also meddled with forces beyond their control and caused total ruination in Chernobyl. His stomach was still twisted from the sight of that barren wasteland, so much life destroyed.

He’s on his bike and he’s switching from Steve, the movie going ordinary person, to Steve the soldier. Though his uniform is at home, he has his shield, tied down to the back of the bike. In an instant he’s on the road, darting through traffic, feeling very rude but realizing that Tony Stark’s life – and Pepper’s – could be at risk.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A gasp escape’s Pepper’s mouth as she pulls up in front of the mansion. The entire east wing is crumbling downward, not completely falling, but drooping. There’s smoke, but she can’t see fire, so she assumes it must be further down. It becomes immediately apparently that the most likely reason why this happened is Tony – the fire is coming from the lower levels, where his workshop is, and the only side of the house affected is the east, also where his workshop is.

Pepper storms into the house, driven by crippling fear and blistering anger. In her head, she repeats a mantra of insults to stay calm. Idiot. Moron. Self-destructive imbecile. Overworking, narcissistic – Her heels click against the floor as she heads down the stairs, coughing as she smells smoke rising.

“Tony!” She cries, holding a hand over her eyes. “Tony, where are you!” Even the hall to the lower level is decimated. “JARVIS, is Tony okay?” If she were worried before, the lack of response from the AI puts her in overdrive. Only something huge could hurt JARVIS. 

She storms down the steps towards Tony’s workshop, and the smoke is so thick behind the glass that she can’t see what’s happened. She attempts entering the code and finds the door isn’t working, just like JARVIS; the glass is strong, too, designed to withstand Tony’s mishaps. She’s not going to be able to get through the glass, but she knows who can.

Rushing back up, Pepper heads for the front door and, though it pains her to wait, she stays and keeps her eyes on the road. There is nothing more she can do until Steve arrives, and so she keeps herself calm by running the numbers in her head, the amount of damage done, what will be needed to fix it, who she’ll have to call, what it will cost…

\--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Pain is what Tony wakes to when he finally regains consciousness; he remembers the explosion, the debris, lying on top of the Hulk… but what came after? He sits up a little and realizes he’s on the floor, his back burning with pain and there’s blood where his head had been laying.

Tentatively, he moves onto his back, which hurts like hell but he does it anyway. Then he comes face to face with the Hulk.

The big guy is kneeling over him, arms pressed against the floor above Tony, knees bent, and on his back he holds up what’s left of the ceiling. Tony calculates his surroundings and what this means, realizes just how surrounded by debris they are, and in all of ten seconds he comes to the most logical conclusion.

“You have to go.” Hulk doesn’t reply or react in any way; Tony says it again, louder. “Hulk, you’ve got to leave.”

The beast grunts, his green eyes falling on Tony, which signals hearing but not understanding. Tony tries explaining anyway. “You’re strong, but we’re pretty deep underground and there’s a lot of concrete above us. It’s not all fallen yet, but it’s giving – it’s only a matter of time. Right now, you’ve got a chance to dig your way out. Much more falls, we’re both dead. Now, I know you’re strong, but I don’t know if you’re that strong, and I’d rather not risk your life to find out.” Hulk’s eyes stay on him, but Tony can’t tell if he’s getting through. The big guy doesn’t move. “Come on, big guy, listen to me! You’re gonna get both you and Bruce killed if you don’t go now!”

A rumbling, irritated noise rises from the Hulk, and Tony can feel it reverberating from the huge chest above him. “Hulk stay.”

“Nooo, Hulk go, or else Hulk die.” Tony insists. “Come on, you’re supposed to be Bruce’s big, green guardian!” Frustrated, the man reaches up and pushes the Hulk’s chest, for all the good it does. “Get moving!” Then an idea occurs to him. “Can you even understand me? I know they said you were dense but this is pushing it… you really are just a big, dumb, bumbling gorilla huh?” There’s a flash of anger in the Hulk’s eyes and Tony feels triumphant. “Get outta here, you overgrown, useless, destructive piece of –“

The ceiling explodes.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=--=-=-

Steve arrives to see Pepper standing in front of the house, and as soon as he pulls up she’s rushing over, clearly distraught and yet giving him orders with calm clarity like any soldier. “Tony’s still not answering but given what’s happened to the house I’m pretty sure he’s in the workshop, but I can’t break through the door – here, it’s this way –“

And they’re running into the house, bent over to avoid the cloud of smoke rising to the ceiling, and Pepper’s leading him to a stairwell but when they approach it, it becomes clear it’s been blocked.

“Dammit! It was clear a minute ago!” Still, Steve is approaching the wall of debris, waving Pepper away so that she’ll be safe, and then he’s throwing his weight behind the shield, trying to see if he can unsettle it, but it’s not working.

“Is there any other way to the workshop?”

“There’s a tunnel Tony uses to leave in the suit, but it’s on the roof, and that’s caved in!” Pepper’s voice is panicky and her breathing frantic but she’s not falling over fainting. She’s clearheaded, and the look in her eyes tells Steve she’s trying to think of something, anything, that will help. Steve realizes that his old fashioned ideas of women being emotional creatures that fall apart under stress are severely outdated. In fact, that idea has needed revising ever since he first met Peggy; but he’d always thought she was an anomaly, one of a kind. This new century is teaching him otherwise.

They rush back outside, looking up to the roof to see if he could climb up and go down the shaft – “But then, you’d be trapped too. If he’s still in there, I doubt Tony has access to the armor, so he can’t fly you out.”

He turns to her. “Is there a chance I could reach the armor and get it to him?”

She frowns. “Maybe, but I can’t be certain. It could be that the armor’s okay and he simply can’t reach it, or it could be destroyed, or… I don’t know!” She threads a hand through her hair. “That’s a big maybe to risk your life on, but dammit I don’t know what else to do!”

Steve’s already nodding and heading for the roof, but someone beats him to it.

A flash of red and gold zooms over his head, straight for Stark’s roof; for a moment it hovers, then dives downward, into the debris. In that pause Steve is able to make out who it is.

A big smile comes over Steve’s face, and the heavy weight of fear and anxiety begins lifting from his chest. He turns to Pepper, who looks decidedly more confused than relieved. “I think Tony’s going to be okay.” He says.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The ceiling explosion was, in fact, the arrival of a familiar demi-god, and the first thing which comes to Tony’s mind is – just like a lightning strike, oh my god, I’m punny. He can see Thor through the debris, but the god has to fight to get to them, shoving debris away and hoping it won’t have the whole place falling. In fact, Tony’s pretty sure Thor isn’t thinking about that possibility.

“Tony Stark!” He calls, and Tony lifts his hand and waves.

“We’re over here!” It’s only then that Thor seems to notice Tony’s not alone, and he does a double take. Tony takes comfort in the fact that ‘gods’ can be surprised. “Though we’d really like to not be here. You know, whenever you’re done staring. Any day now.” The ceiling creaks. “No rush.”

Thor moves to approach, and suddenly the Hulk hunkers down and growls, glaring at Thor like nobody’s business. Tony scoffs. “Come on, buddy, now’s not the time to play jealous, I was just throwing insults at you, you should be squashing me, not defending me –“ He’s moving onto his elbows and knees, hoping to crawl towards Thor. 

“I swear to you, no harm will come to Tony Stark while he is in my care.” Thor begins, a fist over his heart, completely ignoring Tony just like the Hulk is. “He will be awaiting you outside, once you have freed yourself.”

Hulk seems to ponder this, then grunts, leaning up again so that Tony can crawl forward. Thor meets him halfway, being surprisingly gentle as he pulls Tony to his feet.

“Hold tight, friend,” and that’s the only warning Tony gets before they’re flying.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Steve watches Thor fly over to them with Tony, and as soon as he lands, Pepper is all over them. Steve can hardly follow what she’s saying, but he can tell the tone is a mixture of reprimand and worry, and that Tony’s replies are flippant at best. Suddenly, the ground shakes, and a familiar roar fills the air. Steve’s guard rises, and he approaches Tony.

“The Hulk is here? Did he do this?” It isn’t an accusation, so much as it is a soldier asking the hard questions, but Tony is no soldier and he misunderstands Steve’s intent.

“The Hulk saved my life – again! And why are you here? Are you trying to be team cheerleader or did you just want to bully Bruce?” That word sends a chill down Steve’s spine, but before he can say a word, the Hulk flies out of the crumbling mansion, landing twenty feet away. All eyes are on him.

Pepper gives a gasp, hand flying to her mouth. “He’s – he’s big.” But he doesn’t hear fear in her voice, just shock, though she does stand close to Tony. Tony puts a hand on her shoulder, looks to the Hulk, and then steps forward, and she reluctantly follows.

“Hey, buddy, I have a friend I want you to meet.” The Hulk grunts, turns away. “Aw, come on, you know I didn’t mean what I said before! I was trying to rile you up so you’d leave.”

“Hulk know that.” He mumbles, and Steve watches Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Tony must think Hulk stupid if he think Hulk fall for that.”

“Well, I was kinda desperate and wasn’t feeling very smart myself…” Steve has no idea what they’re talking about; he’s just in awe that they’re actually talking. He’s never heard the Hulk talk to anyone before. “Anyway, this is Pepper.” He gestures to the woman; Steve feels a stab of fear in his heart. What is Tony doing? Pepper’s a civilian! And he’s not even in armor! He doesn’t want to be overly protective, but he’s almost ready to charge over there when Pepper steps forward.

She’s looking at the beast with awe and trepidation, but Steve doesn’t think she’s afraid. She gives a little wave. “Um, hi,” The Hulk grunts, and then turns to Tony. Steve’s mouth drops open as one of the Hulk’s meaty fingers taps the side of Tony’s head, like a light reprimand.

“Hulk not leave Tony behind,” He mutters, and in the next instant, he’s shrinking down to Bruce again, and both Tony and Pepper are lunging to catch him. Thor approaches as he changes, ready to help, but keeping his distance. Steve doesn’t move. 

What did he just see? 

Bruce is unconscious, obviously exhausted, and Tony and Pepper are hauling him towards Pepper’s car. The woman is shouting now, ranting about Tony’s stupidity, and Tony is only paying enough attention to give witty remarks every so often. Thor is listening and chuckling at their banter, opening the car door so Bruce can be lifted in. 

Steve wakes from his stupor, realizing they could need help, and makes to move forward. But then Tony’s head lifts and his eyes land on Steve for just one moment, and his gaze hardens, darkens. Steve stops. Tony looks away and slams the door closed, moving to the other side to get in. Pepper’s jumping into the driver’s seat, and Thor is assisting a weakened Tony into the car. Having had enough, Steve turns and walks away.

His eyes fall upon the house, fire rising from it, and for a moment he gets a look at the vague shape of it. The thought hits him suddenly – this was Howard Stark’s house. He was only there once or twice, but he recognizes the familiar layout. He gets a second shock when he realizes that the house – Howard’s house – is burning to the ground.

For a brief second his knees go weak and his eyes water, and he grits his teeth. How typical, another connection to the past, his past, is going up in smoke, and how ironic that Tony Stark is at fault. Clenching his fists, Steve forces his eyes open, and a dark, heavy blanket of sorrow suffocates him. Howard’s house is burning, Howard is gone, they’re all gone and all he can do is watch the flames engulf it all.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Thor is very pleased to be back in Midgard.

The situation which drew him here gives him no pleasure, of course, but it all ended well. He admits to himself he is glad that its occurrence allowed him to return here. He should really thank Heimdall when he returns, without whom he would not have known the danger, and Tony Stark and Bruce Banner would have been in grave peril indeed; and perhaps, as well, Steve Rogers, who would never have let them perish without an attempt at rescue.

Remembering Steve, Thor realizes the man is not around, and turns to find him standing a few feet away, facing Tony Stark’s ruined home. The others have already driven off, after having offered him a ride, which he turned down. He is not so fond of these Midgardian metal carriages, which are often small and cramped and upset his stomach, though he’ll never admit that part aloud.

Thor approaches Steve with a smile on his face. “Friend Steve! How fare thee?” He puts a hand down on Steve’s shoulder, and the man jumps and turns to him suddenly.

“T – Thor! Oh… sorry…” His head lowers. “I thought you left with the others.”

“Not so, my friend,” He smiles, and his hand falls. The genial look on his face softens as he examines Steve. “Are you well?”

Steve seems to snap out of a daze, looking up with a smile which doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Thor, thanks,” Then he turns and moves towards his bike. Thor watches him go for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then follows.

“Where do you go from here, my friend?” He asks, smiling again. Steve looks up and shrugs as he sits upon the bike.

“Uh… home, I suppose.” He doesn’t turn the bike on, just looks up at Thor. “What about you?”

“I have returned to stay in Midgard for a time.” Thor announces, glancing around. “I shall remain to act as her guardian, for as long as Asgard has no need of me.” 

“Oh, well… do you have a place to stay?” The thought occurs to Thor suddenly that no, he does not. It must show on his face, because Steve is chuckling. “You can come to my place, if you’d like.” The stunned look becomes a bright grin. 

“I would be honored, friend Steve!” He claps the man shoulder, and both the soldier and the bike shudder. “Shall I follow your lead?” He gestures to the sky, and Steve looks up and frowns.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea…” He glances back down. Thor nods, deciding that Steve obviously knows more about Midgard than he, and is qualified to make the decision for him. But now that he’s spoken, Steve looks decidedly uncomfortable. 

“Then how shall we do this?” Thor asks.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=

Steve wonders how in the world his life came to this – trying and failing to put out fires, serving as Tony’s punching bag, and riding with a demi-god on the back of his motorcycle. This is not quite as strange as punching Hitler 200 times, but its close.

They can’t arrive at his apartment fast enough, and Steve lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he parks and Thor steps off the bike. He’s not use to being in anyone’s personal space, or anyone being in his, especially not someone like Thor. Steve’s not sure what he means by that thought but he lets it go.

Thor follows him to his apartment, and for a moment, Steve feels a little embarrassed. His humble abode is not exactly the finest place, and certainly not comparable to anything Thor is used to, being god-like and royalty. But when he opens the door and turns around, Thor is glancing about his room as if it is made of gold. Steve sets his bike helmet and shield aside, and gestures around.

“Make yourself at home,” and he thinks a moment later, I probably shouldn’t have said that because, knowing Thor, being at home means walking around naked and drinking plenty of mead. Neither is bad, of course, but Steve would rather not be present for either. 

Thor approaches the couch and sits upon it, still glancing around the room, and Steve rushes to the kitchen. He hasn’t been a host in decades – literally. “Would you like something to eat, or drink?” He opens the fridge and peers over the top of the door.

“Do you have any ale?” Thor asks, of course, and Steve feels slightly irritated at himself for not thinking of it.

“Uh, sorry, I don’t drink.” He gives a lopsided smile, and Thor’s mouth drops open.

“Truly? You never drink?”

“Er, well, it’s not so much I don’t want to, so much as I can’t.” He glances back into the fridge for something he thinks Thor might like, and picks up a carton of strawberries. Anything is better than nothing. “I, uh… I can’t get drunk.”

“There is more to enjoying a good mead than drinking to drunkenness, my friend,” Thor smiles as Steve sits on the couch near him, placing the strawberries on the table. Thor dives for one, eager to try anything new, as usual. 

“I guess…” Steve realizes that it probably isn’t healthy that the only reason he doesn’t drink is because he can’t get drunk, but he hopes Thor doesn’t notice how bad that line of reasoning is.

But they’ve moved on, it seems, as Thor is devouring a strawberry, and suddenly Steve realizes he’s about to swallow the whole thing. “Wait!” It’s too late; he’s eaten it, top and all. Thor looks at him with wide eyes, and he can’t help but chuckle. “You’re not supposed to eat the leaves.”

“Ah,” He mumbles. “That did taste rather unsavory.” Steve gives another laugh as Thor picks up another berry, biting off the bottom this time.

“And how about now?” Steve asks, picking up one for himself.

Thor nods, placing the leafy top on the coffee table. “Sweet, juicy. I like it!” He says it with such fervor Steve has to laugh.

They end up eating the whole box, talking about nothing, and Thor is still hungry. “I could order something, if you like, maybe pizza?” Thor stares at him, his eyes wandering, as if he is trying to decide what he should say, and Steve realizes he has no idea what pizza is. The man laughs again. “I’ll order one and you can try it.” He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket as Thor chuckles.

“I apologize, I still know so little about your world.” 

Steve shrugs. “I’m not one to talk. I’m seventy years behind and still trying to catch up…” A little exhaustion colors his tone, and he gives a soft sigh as he puts the phone to his ear. He jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“There is no shame in being overwhelmed; nor should you feel ashamed for not knowing all there is to know.” Thor smiles at him, gripping his shoulder, and Steve is really not sure what to say. “I too, know what it is to be lost in a new world. Though I think you will find adjusting much easier than I, for you are a much better man now than I was then.” Steve’s mouth drops open. 

“New York Pizza, how may I take your order?” The voice in the phone snaps them out of… something, and Steve speaks into the phone as Thor’s hand drops. The place where it had been burns for a while after.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==

Two hours later, they have devoured the pizza and drank half the coke bottle, and laughter is echoing through Steve’s little apartment. Thor’s face is flushed as if he’s been drinking, and Steve just finished retelling an old war story about Bucky and his team, one that is pleasant and good to remember. The conversation lulls as Steve takes Thor’s empty glass to the sink and the god stretches.

“Well, my friend, it is late, and who knows what the morrow may bring,” Thor says. 

“Yeah, we should probably go to bed,” Steve murmurs, feeling tired but much happier than he had all day. “You can take the bedroom, it’s the last door down the hall,” Steve points it out as Thor stands.

“And where will you sleep?” He asks. 

“I can take the couch,” He says, then chuckles a little. “I don’t think you’d fit.”

“Is your bed not large?” Thor asks an eyebrow quirked. Steve shrugs.

“I suppose.” He finishes the dishes, taking out a water bottle, opening it, and taking a sip.

“Then surely we may share?” 

The water sputters out of his mouth and he coughs, setting the bottle aside. “Um – well – uh,” He scurries to the sink to get a rag, and begins cleaning the mess he’d made, his face crimson red. “its fine, Thor, you can have it.”

“Nonsense my friend! I will not have my host inconvenienced for my sake!” Thor wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulls him along, and Steve’s stomach plummets to his feet. He continues to try and insist the couch is just fine all the way to the bedroom.

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--==--=-

Steve is still blushing all the way to his ears, holding his pajamas tight in his arms as if they comfort him. He’s waiting outside the bathroom for his turn to change. He can’t believe the situations he gets himself into, but as long as nobody else (note: Tony) finds out, he thinks he’ll be fine. Taking a deep breath, the man closes his eyes.

The door opens, and he hears Thor step out. Steve opens his eyes and turns –

“O – OH DEAR –“ He cuts himself off, hands flying to his eyes and pajamas falling to the floor. Hands are on his shoulders immediately.

“Steve? Are you well? What has happened!”

“I’m – I’m fine, just – something in my eye – fine…”

“Are you sure? No one is attacking?”

He risks lifting a hand to wave Thor off. “It’s fine, just took me by – by surprise…” He sighs heavily, slumping against the wall. “I’m fine.”

Thor doesn’t seem to believe him, but a moment later his hands rise. “Very well, friend. I shall enter the bed chambers then.” Only when Steve hears Thor enter the bedroom does he let out a gasp of air and drop his hands, eyes wide. He runs into the bathroom and slams the door shut.

When he’s finished preparing for bed, he nervously opens the door and steps towards the bedroom. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he sees Thor is already under the blankets, eyes closed. He tip toes around the bed, slipping onto it from the other side.

“Steve?” Thor sounds groggy. “Will you not sleep under the coverings?”

Blushing, Steve shakes his head. “I’m uh, fine, I’m more – comfortable this way. Y’know… the weather… it’s pretty hot around here…” But Thor’s already falling asleep again. Steve gives a soft sigh, lies down on top of the blankets, stiff and as far away from Thor as he can possibly get. How in the world did his life turn out this way?

He remains still and staring at the ceiling, hardly in a restful state, for at least an hour. He tries sleeping, tries closing his eyes, but he finds it is almost impossible to drift off when there is a naked demi god sleeping next to him. How do these things happen to him?

Eventually, he sighs, sits up, and decides to go sleep out on the couch, but as he passes by his desk, his eyes fall on his sketch pad. He glances over to Thor again. Slowly, quietly, he sits at the desk, turns on the desk lamp and tilts it low, and picks up a pencil. He flips to a new page, and puts pencil to paper. Every so often, he glances up, and then back down, back to work.

By two in the morning, he has a rough sketch down, and he’s too tired to keep his eyes open anymore. He’ll shade it later, when he’s awake. Pad in hand, he walks out to the couch and collapses onto it, and is asleep almost immediately. It is the most peaceful, restful sleep he’s had in a long time.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tony Stark’s mansion has burned to the ground, but the mission has failed. This knowledge burns her up inside, but she remains calm, her exterior icy cool. She puts her phone to her ear, and speaks clearly. “The mission has failed.” For a moment she is quiet, listening. “Understood. Shall I begin stage two, then?” 

Whatever answer she receives makes the woman smirk. She hangs up the phone, turns and saunters back to her vehicle. As she steps into it, she spares one last glance at the Stark Mansion, and feels a surge of satisfaction. Her quarry may have escaped this time; she may have underestimated the loyalty of the team, but next time she will be ready. And next time, no one will escape.


	4. Meetings and Moving Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony insists it was not his fault, and the Avengers get a new house. Steve attempts to make one apology, fails, but manages to make another. Oh, and there's that little thing where they have their first fight since the invasion and get their butts kicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for all the comments and kudos~ Now we're finally starting to introduce the villains. Are you excited?   
> 'Cause I'm excited.

“I would like to preface this meeting by saying it was not my fault.”

Tony’s comment is met with groans, eye rolling, and some snorts of laughter. A badly veiled mutter of bullshit, covered by a cough, comes from the corner across from Tony. He’s pretty sure it was Clint. From his place opposite Tony, Nick Fury gives him the patented Fury glare, which for once, does not make Tony feel like a small child guilty of pilfering the cookie jar. The truth is he’s done nothing wrong this time.

“While your own stupidity certainly contributed to these events,” The Director began, “I will allow that you were not the only factor.” Tony gives a bright grin, beaming at Bruce, who sits beside him. The grin fades at Bruce’s severe, serious look. There is just a hint of green in the man’s eyes, which mixes with his natural eye color in a way that Tony finds fascinating. He realizes he’s staring and completely missing whatever Fury is saying, so he looks back up. 

There is a projection of his home via satellite rising from the table, highlighting a car parked on the road near his house. “That’s not one of mine.” He mumbles, and half the table stares at him for a moment, as if asking where he’s been the last five minutes. Steve looks particularly annoyed. “Ahem. Right. Continue.”

“There were no plates, no identifiable markings, and we did not get a good look at the driver. We do know that the car was present at the mansion starting two days ago, and left a half hour after you all did.”

“So, they rigged Tony’s experiment?” Clint asks, his chin resting in his hand, elbow pressing into the table.

“I don’t think so,” Bruce mumbles. “Tony was down in the lab nonstop the whole time, and no one came into the house with me there, either.”

“And JARVIS would’ve noticed and told me, anyway.” Tony says. He tries to ignore the stab of pain in his chest just then, and shoves all thoughts of the computer program aside for a time when he can properly worry over him, alone.

“Maybe not,” Natasha’s voice takes Tony by surprise; she is in the only dark corner in the room. “He was inactive during the explosion. Someone could have disabled him remotely.”

Tony doesn’t want to contemplate that, doesn’t want to think of what that could mean for him, for JARVIS. “No way, not JARVIS,” Tony feels heat flowing into his words, his worry coloring his tone. “Nobody can hack him.”

“I have agents at the site now,” Fury begins, interlacing his fingers as he places his arms on the table. “If something was done to JARVIS, they’ll find out. Right now, our priority is keeping another incident from occurring.” 

“Oh, no, no,” Tony shakes a finger at him, chuckling. “I know what that means. Thanks but no thanks.”

“Stark –“

“I am a busy man, and I am not going to hide away on an aircraft carrier because of some lucky, freak accident.” He insists, his chest tightening. Fury’s suggestion is anathema to him, like taking away the suit, or his reactor. Take away his freedom he might as well be dead. “In fact, I think I should be going since I’ve already missed at least two important business meetings and a lunch date, so if we could just wrap this up –“ He waves his hand in a rolling motion as Fury frowns.

“Tony,” Bruce’s voice cut him off. It’s so quiet, so desperate that Tony turns to look at him. “Tony, they came close. They came really close. If I hadn’t decided to go check on you right then, you’d be under a mountain of rubble right now.”

“But you did, and I’m not, so can’t we just –“

“I’m not trying to confine you to the helicarrier, Stark.” Fury interrupts. “But Banner is correct. You’re only alive right now because of the interference of your fellow Avengers. They saved your life. And they might just come in handy if another incident like this occurs.”

“What are you suggesting, all of us,” He waves a hand, gesturing vaguely to the team. “start living in the same apartment complex and acting all buddy-buddy like the super hero version of Friends? If so, I claim being Chandler.”

“Where would we stay, Director?” Everyone else is ignoring him, and Steve is talking. “I’ve got an apartment, but it’s not big enough for six.” Tony tries not to imagine what passes as living quarters for the Captain, because he can’t imagine it has anything other than ye old cord telephone. Would it even have indoor plumbing? Suddenly he notices Fury’s eye is on him again.

“I believe Stark might have a place.”

Why are they looking at him? Tony frowns and gives a shrug, vaguely irritated. He likes – nay, loves being the center of attention, but when it’s this crowd, they always want to blame him for something or lecture him or ask him to save the world. Two of those things are annoying and one of them is terrible for his back.

Fury pushes a button and the picture of his house turns into a picture of a different house, larger, partially built. “Recognize this, Stark?” He asks. Tony gets that feeling, the feeling he gets whenever Pepper is asking him to be responsible, or when Rhodey is about to go full soldier mode and dampen the fun. It is not a good feeling.

“Sure, yeah. It’s uh, the half-built summer home I’ve got on Myrtle Beach, for when I’m bored of visiting California or Florida,” He gives a little half-grin, trying to cover the bit of nervousness that has lodged itself in his throat. “So unless the Avengers would like to sunbathe-?”

“A vacation home.” Fury smirks. “One that you started creating blueprints for a little more than a year ago, not long after I told you about the Avengers Initiative?”

“Come on, Director,” Tony snorts. “I’m the one that thinks everything revolves around them, not you –“

“A home that you began construction on about four months ago, after the Initiative came together?”

That nervous lump is sinking into his stomach. “You’re really pulling at straws here, one-eye –“

But then he’s showing images of the inside of the completed house, flipping through room to room, showing every floor. Tony’s mouth falls open a little, and Fury smirks. “So then, tell me why this ‘vacation home’ has more than ten floors underground, including two fully functional, state of the art laboratories –“

“Um, hello? Certified scientific genius? That kind of cred doesn’t really take a vacation, I mean, I’m something of a workaholic anyway –“ But he’s losing his train of thought (and some of the color in his face) as the pictures keep sliding.

“An entire floor styled in 1940’s inspired design –“ Tony sees Steve’s eyes go wide in the corner of his vision and he bites back a long, colorful stream of curses. “A heavily fortified, steel coated room which I can only assume was built for exceptionally strong individuals –“ Tony glances to Bruce and sees the recognition in his eyes. “A shooting range –“ Clint gives a ‘whoop’ of pleasure. “Three floors of bedroom suites and living spaces, a personal movie theater, a gym, and a mead hall.”

Thor’s eyes fall upon the image of the hall, fashioned with the glory of the Vikings in mind, and he beams. “By Odin’s beard, it is magnificent!” Tony forsakes all illusions of dignity and groans, putting a hand to his forehead.

“I might just have believed it was a vacation home, given how odd you are Stark, but a fucking mead hall?” Fury is very close to laughing and if Tony could hulk out, he would be stomping on his head, repeatedly. Or removing his other eye. 

“I hate every single one of you,” He grumbles from behind his hand. “Except Bruce because I still owe his green ass my life, but I am still very severely irritated with you.” That last statement was directed at Bruce, Tony’s hand falling to motion to the man. He looks much more amused than he did before, which is a relief to Tony, and a bit baffled.

“Me? Why?”

“Because you are just as complicit as everyone else in this embarrassment – you could have easily gone big and green and smashed everything so I would not have to sit here and have those photos – those photos of the inside of my – my vacation house!” He turns to Fury. “My new vacation house which I haven’t even christened with my presence yet, but that you’ve apparently infiltrated with your evil, pirate ways.” He crosses his arms and frowns. “You are definitely uninvited to the opening party. All of you.”

Clint leans forward to look across the table to Tony. “You’re having an opening party?”

“Yes, but none of you can come, I’ve revoked your invitations.”

“I’ve got an in with Pepper,” Natasha is smirking which is like full blown belly laughter.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony changes wave lengths with that sentence. In with –? “In what way do you mean that and if you do mean that in the way I think you mean that, then I swear to God I will hurt you somehow if you hurt her, Russian super-secret ninja or not –“

“Tony –“

“Because Pepper is a perfect human being, and if you corrupt her, if you besmirch her in anyway –“

“Tony –“

“I can and will find a way to post embarrassing baby photos of you all over Facebook.”

“Tony!”

Finally, the man snaps to attention, head spinning to face Steve. The Captain is still wide eyed, still shocked, and he’s looking at Tony in a way that makes the man nervous, uncomfortable. It’s… gracious, and it makes Tony itch. He feels like he should be somewhere else, like he should move out of the way so that Steve may give that look to the correct person, who is probably standing just behind Tony, and is not, in fact, actually Tony. Because Steve can’t be pinning that look on Tony, because they have a relationship based on mutual loathing.

“Tony, this is… this is perfect.” The world drops out from under him because Steve actually is targeting him with that gaze and his voice is breathless with appreciation. This isn’t happening. “This is exactly what we need.” He looks back up at the images still floating above them with something close to awe, or is it trepidation? “For the Avengers to work we need to be a team – we need to work together, maybe even live together. We have to understand each other beyond sharing one fight. This can do that.” And god dammit, Steve almost sounds proud and Tony wants to throw up, but his throat is too tight. He’s looking at Tony with those damnable eyes, so… so… emotional, so open and trusting, and how can he turn down a look like that?

“All right. All right.” He sighs. This is the worst idea he’s ever agreed to, it can only end in disaster and he tries very hard to ignore just how happy a part of him is deep, deep, deep down; hidden beneath the self-loathing and the voice that tells him this can only end badly. Somewhere down there are parts of him jumping and screaming for joy because Captain fucking America just lavished him with praise. Captain America just looked at him like he was worth something and that was more than Howard Stark ever did.

-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Not two days later, Steve is standing in the largest, most extravagant kitchen he’s ever seen. It is stunning, and that’s not a word he’d thought he’d ever use to describe a kitchen.

“Stark knows how to design a house, huh?” Clint murmurs as he passes by. Steve is broken out of his reverie, and returns to his previous work; helping unload. While the house was already furnished to perfection, it had none of the Avengers personal items. The team is currently ferrying their luggage into the foyer of the house. Pepper is standing nearby with a tablet, trying to catch Tony’s attention. 

“Tony,” Pepper steps out of the house towards where the man is with Thor, trading quips about something. They’re laughing and Steve feels a small pang of jealousy. How can a man who is so cruel with his words become so friendly with others so easily? “Tony, I need you to look at this,”

“Hmm?” His eyes snap up; he adjusts his sunglasses, glancing over them. “Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

Pepper stops, eyebrow cocked. “Couldn’t… hear me?”

“Yes, I couldn’t hear you over – over –“ Tony glances around just as Clint is walking behind him to the truck, and he snaps out, grabbing the man’s wrist and pulling him over. “Over the love I have for Clint.” Steve’s jaw drops. But Clint smirks and is apparently on the same page as Tony, because he puts his arm around Tony’s waist and looks directly at Pepper.

The woman snorts. “Are you kidding?”

“How very cruel of you, to make light of our love.” Pepper scoffs even as Tony speaks with the faux heart-broken tone. Clint puts on a sad face and rubs a fist at his eyes. 

“I highly – I very much doubt the two of you are together.” She crosses her arms and Tony smirks.

“See, it doesn’t feel good, does it?” The look on her face says Pepper has no idea what he’s on about, but Tony keeps going. “Not being told about your friend’s illicit romance?”

Rolling her eyes, Pepper replies, “Tony, I don’t have to tell you everything. And it’s hardly illicit, I’m not you.”

“And thank Thor for that.” Clint remarks. Tony snorts, but then both eyes are drawn forward by Natasha exiting the house, walking up beside Pepper. “Tasha, how could you?” Clint scoffs dramatically.

She smirks at them and moves closer to Pepper as the other woman’s face turns the same shade as her hair. “Forgive me, Clint, but she was simply irresistible.” Then the spy is turning Pepper to her, their lips moving closer –

Steve spins on his heel and enters the house, feeling very much like he’d seen something he shouldn’t of. He stops in the kitchen and puts a hand over his eyes, feeling heat rising to his face. It’s not the fact that it’s – that it’s two women, though that surprised him a little. There had been same sex couples in his time, though the ones he’d known about had been men. It hadn’t been accepted by society, but when it came to his team, their business was their own. It’s just, no one in his time had ever been so open about it, kissing outside the home, in broad daylight! 

Sighing, Steve realizes he’s being rather childish, like a kid who doesn’t want to see their parents kiss. He moves back outside, passing Bruce by, and sees the group has moved apart now. Pepper and Tony are talking in a corner across the way, and the others are still helping move. 

Thor is standing at the back of the truck, hands on his hips, looking inside. “Friend Steve,” He begins. “It seems the rest of the ‘luggage’ is it, has been left to us.” He gestures into the truck. Steve glances in and his eyes go wide. 

“That’s uh… that’s a lot of boxes.”

“And those boxes are full of very delicate equipment that cost more than both of your lives are worth – except for yours, Steve,” Tony says. “I’m pretty sure dragging you out of the ocean cost more than all this. But the point remains that if you break any of it, I will draw marker mustaches on your faces while you sleep.” Pepper is rolling her eyes and grabbing at him, pulling him towards the house. 

The two watch him disappear into the doorway then turn to one another. Steve gives a half smile, and Thor grins. “Shall we begin?” Thor steps up into the truck, and Steve makes to follow, when a hand enters his line of sight. He looks up. Thor is kneeling, his hand extended palm up towards Steve. Steve’s mouth falls open and his ears go red, but he takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled into the truck.

Thor steps away, towards the back and the boxes, but Steve finds his feet are planted for a moment. He feels the same as he did a moment ago watching Pepper and Natasha, but now it’s just him and Thor. Nervousness sends shivers through his gut and his hands are trembling just a little bit. His face is hot. Steve didn’t think he could get sick anymore, but maybe he was wrong? Something has to be wrong, for him to feel like this. There’s no other explanation he’ll accept.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It’s been a long time since Bruce has had a lab of his own, and he’s pretty sure he’s never had a lab this fantastic. There’s more delicate equipment in this one room than he’s seen his whole life. “Tony this – this is incredible!” He gives a laugh as the man steps up and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Glad you like it,” Tony smirks. Bruce waits for the funny quip, the smart remark, and there isn’t one. He’s a little surprised. Tony’s hand falls as he steps further into the room, moving from table to table, examining each piece with childish delight.

“Tony, this – all this had to of cost a fortune.” Above the rage, the anger constantly simmering within him, a euphoric joy is rising, filling his chest. He can’t remember the last time he felt this much sheer joy. But then, he remembers the anger, and anxiety begins to filter through his happiness. “Are you sure about this? The other guy would make short work of all of this given one bad day.” He’s going to say more, but Tony’s stalking forward, rolling his eyes, and lifting an arm to throw around Bruce’s shoulders.

“And I can replace everything in here like,” He snaps his fingers, pulling Bruce along. “Though that is a good segue way to introduce the next room.”

At the back of the lab is an elevator. Tony approaches, putting his thumbprint against a reader. “This will only open for you or me; if you want to add somebody else, you can, but it’s completely up to you.” The doors open and he pulls Bruce through, stepping away as they enter. The doors shut and they begin to descend. Bruce puts his hands in his pockets, trying hard not to remember containment from the past, trying to convince the brutal instincts in the back of his mind that this time is different – he’s not being locked away.

The doors open to an absolutely enormous room, lined in steel and filled with what Bruce can only describe as junk. It’s all made of metal, and looks kind of like rejected modern art. He examines the room hard, but he can see no weapons, no guns, no lasers. He supposes they could be hidden in the walls. His spine is like rock, stiff, and he feels pressure inside his head like water about to boil over. He fights it.

Tony is relaxed, unaware of his struggle, an easy smile on his face. Bruce feels a stab of anger at that, but he shoves it down. “So, what do you think?” He turns to Bruce and the smile fades, an oddly serious look coming over him. Bruce backs away a little. “Hey, you okay?”

“Y – Yeah, fine.” He brushes his forehead, tries to ignore how much this room puts him on edge, and looks away. “This is great. Thanks.” But then hands are on his shoulders and he jumps, surprised, and his heartbeat elevates for a brief moment. 

“Don’t give me that, I can tell something’s up.” Tony examines his face and Bruce feels aggravated suddenly. His eyes narrow. Bruce looks away, trying not to meet his gaze, but somehow Tony sees right through him. “Bruce, this isn’t a cage to toss you in when you stub your toe, it’s – it’s supposed to be a place to unwind, to let off some steam. ‘The Green Room’, remember?” He gives a half grin and Bruce chuckles a little. “It would be hard to tear this place apart, even for the other guy, and all this shit –“ He motions to the junk. “It’s here just so he can tear it up. I figured he might get off your back a little, if he could come out to play once in a while.” Even as Bruce looks up, he feels that anger, that inner presence that is always waiting gives an approving rumble. 

“Tony, I…” He chokes up, his chest tight and it’s not because he’s angry. “You don’t have to pretty it up, I understand how dangerous he is -” Bruce is interrupted by a smack to the back of his head. 

It’s not hard. It doesn’t even really hurt, it just shocks him, and it sends a thrill through him too, part anger, part… something else. He looks up with wide eyes at Tony, a hand on his head, and Tony is smirking. “I’m not scared of you, Bruce.” He says, backing away. “And this isn’t a cage. I built this for you, not to hold you.”

“Why aren’t you?” He asks, stunned. “Why aren’t you afraid?” Everyone’s afraid. Even Betty, who had accepted him despite everything, who had walked straight up to the other guy and stared him down, was still scared, and for good reason. But this egotistical, smart-ass billionaire had just smacked him and is grinning ear to ear.

“Trade secret.” Tony says simply, and at Bruce’s baffled look, begins to laugh.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==--

Hours later, as night is descending, Steve steels his strength and approaches Tony’s lab. His chest is tight and he is jittery with nerves, but he refuses to turn away. He’d really rather be anywhere else at the moment, but he can’t just leave. Taking a deep breath, Steve lifts his hand and knocks.

“Yeah, what do you want?”

He’s taken off guard by the relaxed, almost irritated grumble. “Ah, Tony? May I come in?”

There’s a pause before he gets a response. “… yeah, I guess. Why the hell not.” He thinks he hears some grumbles of ‘supposed to be playing nice’ and ‘that god-damn pirate’. He enters cautiously, his eyes roaming as he takes in the impossible things around him. Sometimes he wonders if he woke up in a science fiction story.

Tony is across the room, his back towards him, hunched over something at his work table. “What can I do for you, Captain?” Steve walks through the room as if all these gadgets might bite him, and knowing Tony, they just might. Then he remembers his mission and clears his throat.

“Can I talk to you for a moment, Tony?”

“Sure. We’re talking now. Talk away.” He reaches over and picks up a tool, begins using it. He’s only half paying attention.

Steve grips his hands tight. “I mean a conversation, face-to-face. I’d, uh, rather not say this to your back.”

Tony freezes. He removes the goggles from his head, sets the tool down. For a brief moment he glances back at Steve. “Okay, if this is a don’t-want-to-talk-to-your-back talk, then this is a talk I’d really rather not have. So, let’s not and say we did, huh? Good? Great.” 

“Tony –“ Then he notices the man’s appearance. There are dark bags under his eyes, his shoulders are slouched, and he looks exhausted. There’s a cup of coffee at his elbow and something called a Red Bull behind it. Steve remembers the meeting earlier, how Tony had gone without sleep for a few days before the incident. “Tony, have you slept at all since the meeting?”

“Sure,” He shrugs, turns back around. “I took a nap in the car. Might’ve gotten some z’s at dinner. Can’t really remember.” He’s putting the goggles back on, but Steve moves forward to take hold of his arm.

“Tony, you haven’t slept a whole night in days. This is dangerous!” He notices that Tony is, in fact, working with things that exhausted men should not be working with; when Tony tries to wrench his hand away, Steve lets go, but he doesn’t back away. “You need to take a break.”

“Uh, in case you forgot, someone just tried to kill me.” He says a sharp edge in his tone. “And we still have no idea who did it, and why, so I think it’s more productive for me to be working towards those answers than hitting the sack.” Steve glances down at the project in Tony’s hands, which he really can’t make head or tails of.

“And that’s going to give you the answer?” He asks incredulously. Tony smirks at him and that look makes him tense, it gives rise to old thoughts of inferiority and though he’s changed his mind about thinking Tony’s a bully, this moment puts him on edge.

“Tony? Steve?” They both turn as one to see Bruce in the doorway. “Is everything all right?”

In the next instant, Tony throws a drawer open with such force that it falls to the floor. He snatches something out of it, latches it onto his wrist, and then attaches it to a handle on the desk. Steve and Bruce stare for half a minute before Bruce speaks.

“Are those fuzzy handcuffs?”

Steve has no idea what they are, but they’re pink and fluffy and they’re attached to Tony and the desk. The man wiggles them in defiance at both Bruce and Steve. “Yes they are, and unless you want to break Captain America, you really shouldn’t ask why they’re here. Okay, now, the tour is over, time to get out –“

SNAP.

With an easy tug, the handle comes out of the desk, and Steve drops it. Tony stares at it for ten seconds before muttering, “Duh”, and cursing a litany under his breath. Bruce is trying not to laugh and Steve is surprised to find he’s doing the same. Tony stands reluctantly and heads towards the door, giving Bruce a shove that makes the man finally give in to laughing.

Tony is gone a moment later, leaving Steve with Bruce. They’re both still grinning, but being alone with the other man suddenly reminds Steve of what he’d been planning to do. His nerves rise again, but he steps forward. Bruce turns his attention to him.

“Uh, Bruce, I um…” He takes in a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize, for… before.” Bruce seems confused so he continues. “I misjudged you – you, and the… the Hulk. I treated you badly and didn’t treat you like part of the team, and I am very, very sorry.” Bruce’s eyes are going wide, and Steve’s not sure if he’s about to run away or faint or go Hulk.

“No, Steve, it’s fine. I mean, I understand.” Bruce smiles but Steve frowns. “The other guy… he’s unpredictable, and he’s dangerous. I don’t blame you for –“

“No, Bruce, I – no.” Sighing, Steve puts a hand to his head, his thoughts whirling. Bruce stares, eyes narrowed, and Steve feels his heart clench. He thinks of his own transformation, of the change which had given him so much, and he tries imagining his own change going more like Bruce’s had. He tries imagining his life like Bruce’s, and it breaks his heart. He approaches the other man, and he sees Bruce tense up. Steve stops a few feet away.

“The night before I went through the procedure that made me into… this…” He gestures to himself. “The doctor in charge talked to me about what would happen. He said that his serum didn’t just change the body – it amplified everything inside. Good, bad, everything.” Bruce’s eyes are darkening, but Steve pushes ahead. “That’s why, when I first met you, I was nervous. I read your file and I couldn’t imagine how someone could have so much anger inside them, that a version of the serum could make them into… into the other guy. I wasn’t sure if having you around was a good idea.” 

“But I was wrong. There’s more in you than anger. You came back to help us when you didn’t have to, the Hulk worked with us as a team, and he even saved Tony’s life.” Bruce is looking down, his fists clenched, and though Steve mildly wonders if this conversation will end with a green fist plowing into him, he continues. “There is good in you. A lot of good. And if that’s true of you, then it’s true of him. He’s just you made… more.” Suddenly Steve realizes that’s he’s been rambling and saying a lot more than he probably should and his face colors. “So I just… I wanted you to know that I was wrong. That you – both of you – you aren’t a monster. And I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”

Bruce is deathly quiet, and Steve wonders if he’s ruined any chance of them being more than just reluctant teammates. He surprises himself by how much that idea hurts. But then he hears Bruce speaking, and looks up again.

“Thank you.” The man mutters, his voice weak. “That, um… that means a lot. Coming from you.”

Steve, embarrassed again, looks away, a hand brushing through his hair. “Well, you’re welcome.” 

It is awkwardly silent for a moment, and Steve wonders if he should just leave since the science floor isn’t really his home, when Tony suddenly enters the room again.

He approaches his desk and moves to open the same drawer, before seeming to realize it’s on the floor. Grumbling, he kneels, shuffles through it, and removes a key. He uses that key to take the handcuffs off his hand, and they drop into the drawer with the handle. Then he drops the key, still grumbling, and walks back past Steve and Bruce as if he doesn’t see them. Steve and Bruce stare after him as if they’re not sure whether to laugh or shake their heads.

Bruce speaks up after Tony leaves. “I’m guessing you were in here to say something similar to Tony?”

“Uh, yeah.” He gives a little chuckle. “You can see how well that went.”

“He’s not going to make it easy.” Bruce admits. “He’s not a very open person.”

“Are any of us?” Steve shrugs, and moves past Bruce for the door. “I’m going to go make sure he actually went to bed.”

“I’ll keep watch in case he tries to sneak back down here.” Bruce calls after him as Steve enters the elevator. The doors close, and he slumps against the back wall with a sigh of relief. He managed to do it and somehow not stick his foot into his mouth or piss off a giant green rage-mountain. But as hard as this was, he imagines Tony’s will be much, much harder.

-=-=-=-=--==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It takes a week for them to settle in, to move all their belongings into place, and to fall into a routine that is vaguely familiar. Everyone hits rough edges at some point, rubs each other the wrong way, but for the most part, they get along surprisingly well.

Each person takes a turn cooking – despite Tony’s insistence that he could hire chefs, or afford to order food in every day, or even could buy a restaurant chain to cater to their needs – but Steve refuses to allow it. He also refuses to allow Tony to hire a cleaning service, and within two days, everyone has been assigned chores. Tony is distraught over the idea; everyone else is chuckling at Steve’s speech about personal responsibility and agreeing to it to placate him.

Clint and Tony have become a dangerous duo; the only one who can survive the two of them teaming up against them is Natasha, who can turn both to spineless goo in half a minute. Otherwise, their sharp tongues cut everybody up, and at times, each other, though it’s all in good fun and everyone seems to take it well. Their jokes fly over Thor’s head half the time, anyway.

They had a meeting midway through the week to discuss a dress code. This meeting became an imperative after Pepper woke half the house with her startled scream upon finding Thor cooking eggs in the kitchen in absolutely nothing. The meeting closed with a long list of rules of what was appropriate to do where and when, and Tony bought Thor over a thousand dollars-worth of bed things. His excuse was that, if such a gift from the heavens as Thor’s body had to be hidden, it would be hidden by the finest luxury a billionaire could afford.

Someone went out and bought more coffee machines on the third day, after Tony threw a fit when he found all the coffee had been drunk. Each floor with a kitchen had two machines, one for Tony, one for everyone else. 

Steve, meanwhile, was still trying to catch up with the times, and the group had made it a part of their mission to start teaching him – and Thor – what they didn’t know. It had led to some laughs (Mel Brooks movies), some tears (9/11), some happiness (social progress), and some anger (racism, sexism, Amendment 1). Though it wasn’t always easy, all in all, everything seemed to be going surprisingly well. 

Then they got their first call.

-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-

“This is ridiculous,” Tony mumbles. “We’re getting beat by Hellboy and the Ice Queen.”

‘Hellboy’ is a red skinned man with a devil’s tail, who has the nasty habit of teleporting. Ice Queen is a blonde woman in white who can turn her skin so hard that even the Hulk can’t smash her. They are fighting in a government facility, where the two had infiltrated and stolen data of some kind. The mission is simple enough – beat the two baddies and get the info back. It is not going so well.

Tony is flying above, trying to come up with a plan to end this. So far, Hellboy has been keeping Natasha and Clint busy. Every so often he’ll teleport while holding one of them, moving them somewhere terribly inconvenient, like outside the building or even on top of it. Tony had been playing taxi more than he’s been fighting, retrieving teammates from odd places.

Hulk, meanwhile, is facing off with the diamond girl, and though she’s not hurting him, he’s not hurting her either. No matter how many walls he throws her through, no matter how many times his giant fists descend upon her, she is unfazed. Cap and Thor join the fight, and even the three together can’t knock her down permanently. Tony tries firing at her and it just bounces off. This is getting frustrating.

He decides to intervene on Clint and Natasha’s fight, hoping that Hellboy will be taken by surprise and not teleport away; but when he tries to aim, the suit won’t move properly. He tries lifting his arm and it fights him, it won’t aim at the man. 

“JARVIS, this is not a good time to be getting kinks.” He snaps, frustration lacing his tone.

“Sir, there is nothing wrong with the armor. It is functioning at primary capacity.”

“Then why isn’t it –“ He tries shaking his arm and it shakes, but as he turns around to try and aim at Hellboy again, it doesn’t work. He’s not aiming at Hellboy – he’s aiming at Clint, and he can’t move his arm away – his eyes go wide and he shouts into the com. “Guys! Something’s wrong with the suit, Barton –“

“Use code names on the comm, Iron man!”

“GODDAMN IT, HAWKEYE IT’S AIMING AT YOU!”

Then the repulsor fires, and Tony’s heart stops as the beam fires true, mere seconds from blasting Clint in the chest – when a red, white, and blue shield flies between them, sending the beam off course. Relief floods Tony but suddenly he realizes the suit is not responding to him at all anymore, and he can’t pull up – he tries bracing himself as the suit powers off –

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-

Steve sees the Hulk leap away, out of the fight, screaming in rage as he does. Steve is at least reassured that Tony won’t slam into the ground, but now it’s just him, Thor, and the diamond woman, and things are not looking good. 

He can’t put a dent in her and the shield is halfway across the room; he’s pretty much useless, for all his strength, and it is infuriating. Thor is still trading blows with her, and when Steve tries to reenter the fight, she turns her attention on him and BAM – her fist hits his neck and he snaps back hard, skidding across the floor. His back burns and his head is on fire, and he’s struggling to sit up and see through narrowed eyes –

Thor is putting the hurt on with Mjolnir, and he’s having better luck than anyone at holding his own with her – but just as he’s backing her into a corner, the woman flips away and smirks. She stares Thor down and suddenly the man is screaming, dropping his weapon and falling to his knees, hands flying to his head. She’s doing something to him and Steve has no idea what, but that terrible scream echoes in his ears and his chest tightens. He glares at the woman, and in the next instant he’s on his feet, barreling across the room. He can’t reach his shield, but he can make it to Thor – he kneels down, takes hold of Mjolnir with both hands, and lifts – it is the heaviest thing he’s ever held in his life and he is going to feel this tomorrow, but he lifts it, and spins about, tossing it at the woman hard. It thuds into her chest and tosses her across the room, slamming her into the back wall. When she slides to the bottom, she’s unconscious, her diamond skin fading away.

Steve hears Thor give a groan, and in the next instant, Steve is catching him as he slumps to the ground. He lays him down gently, and then stands, rushing towards his opponent.

Natasha and Clint are helping each other up, having just been teleported into the air and dropped, - Clint’s quick thinking and the right arrow catch them, but they’ve been preoccupied enough for the red guy to get away. He’s teleported to the woman’s side, and Steve rushes across the room but it’s too late. He grabs her hand and they’re gone.

Steve slides to a halt, curses, and puts his hands on his knees. They’ve been beaten bad. 'We beat a whole army of alien invaders,' He thinks, 'but two people with special powers get the jump on us?' He can hardly believe it; he might not have, had he not seen it. He feels the failure and guilt especially strongly, because he’s the leader, and he should’ve thought ahead for this, he should have done something, sooner.

Frowning, he approaches Mjolnir and picks it up, though it weighs a ton, holding the handle with two hands. He turns back to approach the group. The Hulk is helping Tony stand with a hand behind his back, and Natasha and Clint are coming down from the ceiling, landing on their feet. Thor is struggling to stand, but he does, a hand still rubbing his head. Steve sees his shield on the ground as he walks, kneels and picks it up. Now he’s holding Mjolnir with one hand and it’s really heavy, but he manages.

Thor looks up as Steve approaches, and he lifts the hammer towards the demi-god to hand it back, but Thor doesn’t take it. Confused, Steve looks up. Thor is staring at him, eyes wide, mouth dropped open. Steve wonders for a moment if something happened to his face, or maybe his wounds are worse than he thought, or maybe there’s something particularly surprising behind him. He glances back, sees nothing, and then turns to look at Thor again.

“Are you all right?” He wonders if whatever the woman did to Thor’s head has made this happen. “Thor, are you okay?”

Thor reaches out then, takes hold of Mjolnir, and lifts it, his stunned gaze settling on it. Steve turns to look at the rest of the team – and they’re all staring at him too. Tony, face mask lifted, has a look that is an ungodly mix of bafflement and irritation. Natasha has an eyebrow cocked, Clint is smirking, and the Hulk is already changing back to Banner so Steve has no idea if he has also been affected by this strange, mood-altering… thing.

“What’s going on? Is something on me?” He looks over himself, sees no change, and frowns. He jumps when a hand falls on his shoulder. Thor is grinning at him, eyes bright and wide.

“Friend Steve… you are a worthy Captain.” Steve has no chance to ask what in the world the man means, because in the next moment, he is being enveloped by the demi-gods enormous biceps. He’s not sure whether to protest or melt. He’s also not sure what to think about the desire to melt. So he stops thinking, stops wondering what the hell brought this on, and just enjoys it.


	5. Cold Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's drinking, Clint is drifting, and Natasha and Bruce can't believe they're the ones comforting others. The enemy's plans begin to unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! There won't be any updates for a few days - I'll be at an anime con - but I hope you enjoy this chapter! I wanted to fit some backstory for Pepper and Natasha in, but I didn't have the time. Oh, well, next chapter!

Bruce knows Tony’s upset because the door to his lab is locked. It doesn’t really stop Bruce. Not because he could turn into an eight foot tall giant and slam the door down; no, it’s because the lock is keyed to both Tony’s thumbprint and Bruce’s. He’s not really sure why Tony has done this, made him the only other Avenger who can enter the lab at any time. He tries to think of logical reasons: they’re both scientists, they both work down here… but these, while part of the picture, aren’t completely sufficient answers. 

The other answer – that Tony trusts him – is completely ridiculous and it shouldn’t warm his heart, but it does. Bruce is the last person anyone should trust. One bad moment, one slip, and he becomes an unstoppable, murderous juggernaut. Those who have trusted him in the past have been hurt by him, and for that reason, Bruce stops thinking of how happy he is to have someone trust him. It’s a bad idea, and he should really convince Tony of that, very soon.

For now, he takes advantage of Tony’s trust and enters the lab. Tony’s back is to him; he’s hunched over the suit, goggles on his head, sleeves rolled up, AC/DC blaring out of the speakers. Bruce can tell from how tense and stiff his back is, how loud the music is, and how wrapped up in his work Tony is that the other man is agitated. The fact that he can tell the man’s mood from his posture and atmosphere tells Bruce that he’s getting too attached.

“How’s it look?” He mumbles as he approaches, and for a moment he wonders if he was even heard. But then Tony gives a grunt, which was either from exertion or a response. Bruce bets on ‘response’ since the man begins talking a moment later.

“It’s – it’s perfect.” He grumbles. “It’s absolutely fine. Nothing’s wrong with the targeting algorithms, the motion controls, the HUD, nothing. There’s not a goddamn reason why it should’ve targeted Clint and crashed.” Grimacing, the man tosses the tools in his hand at the far wall hard, where they make a hell of a lot of noise. 

Bruce frowns, nervousness crawling up his spine. He’s used to dealing with his own anger and calming himself down. He’s never done it for a friend. “Does JARVIS know anything?”

“Memory’s clear of anything during the last ten minutes of the battle. It’s like – like someone shut him off.” Tony runs a hand through his hair, grips it and pulls. “That doesn’t happen.”

“But now, it’s happened twice.” Worrying his lip, Bruce steps up to the desk and leans against it, looking at Tony. “You’re worried about him.”

“I’m worried that someone’s hijacked my equipment and is going to use it to kill one of you!” Tony stands suddenly, the chair behind him flying back, and he begins to pace. “Everything I created to defend myself, to defend others, is being turned against me. One of my own creations blew up my house with me in it and somehow disabled JARVIS, too. Now, the suit is acting up for no apparent reason and JARVIS was shut off and had his memory wiped and there’s not a trace of malignant software, hacking, sabotage, nothing!” Throwing his hands in the air, Tony slumps against the far wall. One of his hands comes over his face as he grimaces, shoulders slumped. 

For a brief moment, Bruce is stunned by the simple fact that Tony is angry, and angry around him. People stopped being angry around him a long time ago. Besides the incident on the helicarrier (which doesn’t count, because Loki’s weapon was manipulating them), those around him who knew his nature tread carefully and never raised their voices. It was as if they feared their anger would awaken his own and trigger an event, which is ridiculous since Bruce keeps too tight a lid on himself for that. 

But here’s Tony, completely ignoring the fact that anger is what makes Bruce quadruple in size and weight and smash things, just feeling his frustration and fear in front of him. He’s not trying to bottle it up or calm himself down because of Bruce; in fact, he thinks Tony’s only being this open because he’s here. He can’t imagine Tony saying these things in front of Steve or Natasha. He tries to ignore how that thought creates the stereotypical butterfly feeling in his stomach, a feeling which he should’ve outgrown many years ago.

The moment passes, and Bruce crosses the room to stand at Tony’s side, lifting a hand to place it on the man’s shoulder. “That’s why the Avengers are here Tony. That’s what we’re for.” Bruce says. “To be your back-up.” Tony’s hand falls to his side and his face is neutral, but haggard. Bruce attempts a smile.

“Great.” Tony scoffs, eyes falling. “So I get to be the team-mate everyone rescues all the time? Well, that’s different, at least. If this were the stereotypical superhero story, it would be Natasha being rescued all the time, and I’m pretty sure she’d kill anyone who ever tried to save her, unless their name was Clint, of course.”

“Tony,” Bruce can see the distraction for what it is. “You aren’t a liability. What I’m trying to say is that everyone on the team has weak spots. We cover each other when we’re exposed. Right now, we’ve got your back.” Bruce turns to stand in front of Tony, putting a hand on each shoulder. “But it wasn’t very long ago that you had mine. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

That puts a smile, albeit a weak one, on Tony’s face, and Bruce considers it a small victory. “Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulders. “There’s a pizza upstairs with your name on it.”

“Hmm, there’s a thought.” Tony chuckles. “That’s one thing I haven’t put my name on yet.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Clint is the only one in the kitchen; he’s been waiting nearby for an hour waiting for it to be empty. Now that it is, he saunters into the room, grabs a beer out of the fridge, and collapses onto the huge couch nearby. He hopes the room will remain empty for a while, but knows that is highly unlikely.

In one hand, he holds his drink against his thigh, in the other, he picks up the remote. Clint flips through channels, his eyes clouded and his thoughts distracted; he doesn’t really notice what he’s flipping through nor does he realize what he’s stopped it on. He goes through the motions, puts down the remote, sips his beer, makes as if it’s just another ordinary night. He has not had one of those in what feels like years.

There have been many dark times, many mistakes, made in his long career, and he’s always tried not to dwell on them. He’s worked hard to not be trapped in the past, in his own head. This time, it’s as if his mind is an ocean and he is drowning, pulled down by the heavy weights of guilt and loss into the murky abyss. He has forgotten how to swim.

His chest aches and it’s not from any wound, but from a phantom pain, radiating from a spot that wasn’t ever hurt, not physically. If he closes his eyes, he falls back into the moment: Loki, grinning at him, exhaustion and madness burning in his eyes, the staff touching his chest and the worst pain he’s ever felt… then the gaping hole. On the other side, he sees flaming red hair, whispers ‘Tasha’, and it is over.

Now he is here, with his beer and the blaring noise of the TV, drowning in his own. Sometimes, when he thinks about it, he feels ashamed. Recently, he’s only ever been focused during missions. During down time, he spends most of his time drunk or getting there. If Coulson were still around, he’d be pissed. Clint can imagine the look; hard eyes, stern stare, the firm, cold look on his face, arms crossed over his thin chest…

Clint realizes he’s stopped breathing when his head throbs and colors dart in front of his eyes. Quickly, he takes a haggard breath, feels almost high for a moment, head still throbbing, chest burning hard. No one else is around so at least no one saw. His head falls back against the couch, hard. He lifts the beer to his mouth to take a sip… to his surprise, it is empty. 

“Huh,” Clint mutters.

Tasha has told him at least three times a week since the… incident…that it wasn’t his fault. She might be right, in part. What he was forced to do under Loki’s control is not his fault. But the fact that Loki took control, that Clint had all but stood there and not fought with all he had to stay away from that staff… that is on his head.

There are a thousand different scenarios in his mind of how the mission could’ve played out, if he hadn’t been a puppet being pulled by Loki’s strings. He thinks of Tasha, facing the Hulk alone. He thinks of Fury, trying to save the world with one of his own fighting against him.

He thinks of Coulson.

No, what Loki made him do was not his fault. But that he wasn’t there when they needed him, that he allowed himself to be overcome in the first place, that his friend was murdered by the man Clint had been helping the whole time… he’ll have to live with that on his ledger.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Natasha is not pleased.

She is used to Fury hiding things. It’s part of his job; even if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t have trusted herself with important info, either, given how she entered the organization. But she’s proven herself by now, and so have the Avengers, and the fact that Fury is still hiding things as simplistic as “What information did the attackers steal?” is infuriating.

Of course, she knows what they took now. Not even S.H.I.E.L.D. can keep much hidden from her – though she’s sure Fury will know she knows soon enough. That doesn’t matter. What matters is getting to the team and telling them before Fury knows she knows and orders her to stay silent. She’d rather not disobey an order.

She turns on her comm and speaks into it. “Black Widow to Captain America, I have returned from S.H.I.E.L.D. with important intel and the team needs to be debriefed, immediately.”

“Roger, Black Widow. We’ll meet in the third floor living room ASAP.”

“Hey, can I play super-secret spy, too?”

“Unless you’re going to be serious, get off the comm, Tony.”

“I thought it was ‘we only use code names on the comm, Iron man’.”

“Doesn’t really matter for you, does it?” Natasha smirks as she steps out on the third floor. “Or did you forget the ‘I am Iron man’ debacle?”

“Kinda hard to forget that portion of my life. Though, to be honest, most of my life is pretty memorable. Except for, y’know, the portions that alcohol erased.”

She smirks. “I’m sure they were glorious moments.”

“Youtube seems to think so.”

In ten minutes, they all gather in the living room, arranged on couches, love seats, and in Clint’s case, the floor by Natasha’s foot. He’s been drinking, and there’s a fog in his eyes that tells her exactly what he’s thinking about. She’s a skilled manipulator, so in theory, helping others cope should be easy. But manipulation is insincere, and that’s the last thing she wants to be with Clint. For now, she rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, for lack of being able to do anything else.

When everyone is present, Natasha turns to Steve, allowing him to give the okay to start. He nods, and she turns back to speak to the group.

“I returned to SHIELD and made a report of the events that occurred yesterday; Fury was, of course, furious –“ Tony snorts, and Natasha ignores him. “But he seemed less concerned with discerning what was taken and why, and more concerned about bolstering for a second attack.”

“Why’s he so sure there will be a second attack? Perhaps they got everything they needed.” Bruce wonders.

“That puzzled me, too. I asked him what was taken and he told me it was above my pay grade – which is rare, for me. He told me he won’t tell you, either.” She looks at Clint, and the man shrugs. “It’s unlike him, so I got my hands on the information.”

“Oh, you naughty girl,” Tony says appreciatively as Natasha stands and approaches the nearest computer interface. JARVIS – who had been installed into the house a day or two after the move – pulled the info up on a screen nearby.

“It’s a list of names.” Natasha begins as she sits back down. Clint scoots over as she sits, then takes hold of her knee and pulls her leg over his shoulder. He scoots in-between both of them, her legs now resting on his shoulders. Tony looks like he’s about to open his mouth and she hits him with her worst glower. “Each name is a folder containing what seems to be innocuous, random information. Newspaper articles. Internet searches. Doctor’s appointments. There’s no connection.” 

Everyone is looking up at the screen, which lists more than a hundred names. Natasha instructs JARVIS to click on one of the names. “Stephanie Young,” She begins. “There is no information on who she is, not so much as a date of birth, but her folder contains a newspaper article about a house fire in Missouri last year.”

“So… pyromaniacs?” Clint asks; Natasha is surprised he’s speaking.

“There’s no pattern to suggest pyromania is the connection.” Natasha directs JARVIS to a lower name. “Tyrone Thompson; one article about an increase in the local bug population and a school transfer request.” 

“Could it be a code of some kind?” Bruce asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Meant to confuse anyone looking at it, to make them think there’s no connection?”

“Perhaps, but if that’s true, I’ve never seen one so inconclusive. There doesn’t seem to be anything tying these together.”

Steve’s brows are furrowed. “Pull up another one.” He orders, and another name appears.

“Marie D'Ancanto; her folder only contains the hospital paperwork of a Cody Robbins who fell unconscious under mysterious circumstances.”

“Mysterious circumstances?” Thor murmurs. “There is no more detail?”

“None whatsoever. The doctors were apparently baffled. Kid turned out okay.” Natasha replies. “Most of these names are just ordinary civilians. A lot of kids.”

“Anyone stand out?” Steve asks. 

“There is one that is more distinguished than the others, but he’s as much a dead end as they are. Pull up the professor, JARVIS.” He does so; this one, unlike all the others, has an image. It is of a young man with full brown hair, pale skin, and bright eyes. “That is Charles Xavier, graduated in 1962 from Oxford University with a doctorate in –“

“Genetics,” Bruce says this almost reverently.

“You know of him?” Tony, immediately interested in anything vaguely science related, turns to Bruce. 

“I examined his research in my early years with… the other guy, hoping it might help me figure out my own problems.” Bruce crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back. “Charles Xavier was a promising young grad with a big, bright future when he just vanished. What was left of his research at Oxford gave no clue as to where he went.” Brow furrowed, Bruce stares at the screen intently. “Given the time period, how rough things were politically, it was assumed he became involved with a bad crowd, maybe defected.”

“That’s almost on the right track.” Natasha admits. “Unlike the other folders, Xavier’s is filled with top-secret documents: transmissions, letters, orders, all from the US government in the early sixties, most having to do with Russia and specifically with the Cuban missile crisis. Some of his genetics research is there as well.”

“So, the ‘bad crowd’ was the United States government?” Tony snorts, crossing one leg over the other. “Any death certificate?”

“Nothing that gives any conclusive information as to what happened to Charles after –“

“If I may, sir,” JARVIS chooses that moment to speak up. “I have been filing through the information and found two names which may interest you.” He pulls them up, and reveals what is in both files: pictures of very familiar faces.

“Whaddya know,” Tony says. “Hellboy and Ice Queen.”

“Or Emma Frost and Azazel.” Steve murmurs. “No last name.”

“Only their faces fill these folders.” Thor grumbles, his hands clenching. “But nothing about their strange abilities in battle.”

Those two words send a thrill of shock through Natasha. She doesn’t like that. Shock is not a feeling she is supposed to feel, ever, if at all possible. “Strange abilities.” She sends a smirk in Thor’s direction. “That’s the connection.”

“I… don’t follow.” Tony looks peeved that his genius brain has not caught on to whatever epiphany Natasha is having.

“The news articles, doctor’s reports, the paperwork – they are all of unusual natures: sudden fires, atmospheric changes, unexplained phenomena.” The stunned looks and the looks of slow realization on her partner’s faces are pretty satisfying. It is not often she stands before others, holding their attention. That is usually the opposite of what is necessary for the mission. This once, she’ll admit seeing Tony’s face light up with both realization and irritation at having not realized first is priceless.

“You’re saying the people on this list have… powers of some kind?” Bruce says. 

“That professor… he was a genetics scientist, right?” Steve says.

“Geneticist, Steve, but it’s cute how you try,” As Tony interjects, Natasha picks up a pillow from beside her and tosses it hard at Tony’s face. There won’t be any damage, sadly, but his squawk of surprise is enjoyable.

“Maybe he was working with the government to try and make more powerful soldiers, like the super soldier project.” Steve says.

“Working with, or being forced to work with?” Clint grumbles, and Natasha knows why that thought occurred to him before anyone else. She feels her throat tighten.

“It’s a solid theory. It all started with him.” She points to the list, and the fact that his name is on the very bottom, at the start of the timeline. “He never reappeared after teaming with the military,”

“They aren’t very big on leaving loose ends,” Bruce grumbles.

“There is still an aspect of this which bothers me.” Thor begins, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Whatever this list may be, we have not discerned why those attackers desired it.”

“Their names are on it.” Clint points out. 

“Old subjects trying to find out about how they were created? Out for revenge, or to find out what else the project has been doing since them?” Natasha is thinking out loud and somehow none of what she’s saying sounds like the real answer. Her gut says there’s more to this.

“There’s also the fact they’re down there at the bottom in 1962 with our missing professor.” Tony says, being serious for the time being. It might last a minute if they’re lucky.

“Well, we can’t sit here and theorize forever.” Sighing, Steve rubs his forehead and looks around the room. “We need to get out there and get some answers.”

“I can start busting some heads in the military industrial complex.” Tony remarks. “I’ve still got some connections there.”

Natasha feels a headache coming on. “Are you suggesting that you’ll just walk up to the people whose secrets we’ve stolen and ask them to tell you about it?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on just asking,” Tony smirks. “You’d be surprised how much a reputation and an impossibly large amount of money can change people’s minds. Not to mention – I talk their language.” The man’s smirk weakens. “Regrettably.”

“Tony, I’ve noticed you’re not always the most cautious, but that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard!” Bruce, turning to Tony, is still calm but is definitely on the verge of being vaguely agitated. A chill settles in Natasha’s gut but she forces it away, reminds herself that Bruce – that the other guy – are allies. She feels Clint squeeze her leg and remembers that, just as easily as she can recognize his pain, he can recognize hers.

“Really, I’ll be fine, they love me –“

“Tony, those people are dangerous, you’d be painting a target on your back –“

“All right, enough!” Steve manages to get them quiet with those words, though neither looks particularly calm. “Bruce definitely has a point, Tony. They aren’t going to like you dredging up their pasts. But I’ll admit, if anyone can do it and get away with it, it’s probably you.”

“Probably?” The man snorts. Bruce looks almost murderous when Cap holds up a hand and turns to him.

“But I also want to err on the side of caution – which is why I’d like to send Bruce along.”

“Okay, wait, no see – that’s a dumb idea.” Tony points a finger at Bruce, and the finger wavers between pointing at Steve then Bruce, back and forth. “I can handle myself, I’m rich and no one can touch me without losing public credibility, financial support, and gaining a hell of a lot of legal trouble. But him? The military is still operating under the delusion he belongs to them, and you want him to walk right into their hands?”

“With you around, I trust the generals won’t be stupid enough to try and force Bruce to do anything he didn’t want to do. You, not to mention the Avengers, SHIELD, and the general public that now sees him as a hero would raise hell over it. But Bruce can help you get the info you need.”

“Good cop, giant green angry cop?” Clint adds. The look on Steve’s face says that this is a reference he only vaguely understands.

Neither Bruce nor Tony seems overly thrilled, but both fall silent and are unable to make a rebuttal. Tony looks like he still has plenty to say, but he’s being a good boy, for once.

“While they track that lead,” Steve begins, turning to Natasha. “I want you to find out what you can about the professor. Take Barton with you; safety in numbers is probably a good idea at this point.” Then his gaze turns to Thor. “As for us, we need to work on battle tactics. I’d rather not have those fellas wipe the floor with us again.”

“Is this the part where we all put our hands in and do a cheer?” Tony quips. No one answers; Natasha and Clint are already headed out the door, Thor has begun discussing tactics with the Cap, who is moving closer to him, and Bruce is frowning, brow furrowed, gaze stuck on the floor. “Ah, too bad. I hear Cap made a good cheerleader back in the day.”

Natasha doesn’t have to be present in the room to know that Steve Rogers is currently blushing. Tony’s bright laugh is proof of that.

\--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-

It is night at the Avenger’s mansion, and Tony’s drinking again. Black Widow and Hawkeye are already on the trail, Thor and Cap are doing something, somewhere, and Bruce is science-ing. They have a plane coming for them in the morning. Tony hopes it is stocked with hangover cures.

For a while there, he’d stopped drinking. Well, stopped drinking excessively, which is to say, stopped drinking himself to oblivion two, three, five times a week. He’s been good these past few months, though it’s been damn hard, but after the meeting he finds his feet taking him to his bar and not two hours later he’s on his sixth… seventh? He can’t remember.

He wonders what sparked this. Images, thoughts come to mind. He thinks of almost shooting Barton, of being attacked in his own home, of Natasha and Pepper kissing. He remembers Steve’s words when they first met, the expression on his face, a look that spoke of anger, but most of all, of disappointment – disappointed to find out who Howard Stark’s son had turned out to be.

For the moment, he’s fixated on the kiss. Pepper and Natasha. Part of him is genuinely peeved Pepper wasn’t the one to tell him, part of him knows why she didn’t, and it’s because he’d take it just as badly as he is currently taking it. Tony takes a moment to remind himself that he broke it off, that he walked away, but all that does is remind him how much he’s screwed up.

It was the right choice of course, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt a hell of a lot.

His face is in the glass; reflection obscured by the motion of the liquid, distorted by the ice cubes. There’s a profound thought building up in his head, that in the drink he sees his true self, this twisted self, and he lets out a depreciative laugh. Alcohol brings out the worst in some people, but in him, it brings out his best and at his best he is the worst. 

Of course he doesn’t drink it for that. With every sip he takes, the image of Pepper and Natasha’s lips pressed together, their bodies separated by just a hair, blurs and fades. The words Steve said to him become incomprehensible, his face fading into obscurity. The fears and worries of the day sink below the heavy weight of intoxication, to be bothered with at another time. Even the numbers, the constant stream of equations and fractions and data that runs through his head, drifts away until it becomes difficult to discern if math exists anymore. Of course it does, he just can’t recall it. He drinks to forget.

Something makes a sound behind him that is surprisingly like the sound of the door opening but he’s pretty damn sure he locked that. Then, he hears footsteps, which isn’t possible since no one can get in since he locked the door, and he didn’t hear any feats of strength tearing his door down. But then a hand settles on his shoulder and all he can say is, “Trhhtr.” It’s not really a word. 

“JARVIS cares about you, Tony.” Bruce understands his gibberish. How is it this stranger he barely knows just gets him like nobody does, more than Pepper who blocks him out half the time, or Rhodey, who he butts heads with more than anything else, how is it this adorable short fluffy biologist just understands him even when he doesn’t understand him?

“I don’t know, Tony.” Bruce is smiling but it’s a half smile, like he’s not sure whether to laugh or go for help. Also he’s reading Tony’s mind. Stop doing that Bruce, he thinks. “I’m not reading your mind, Tony, you’re talking.”

“Oh.” Tony mutters. He goes to take another sip, but pauses, staring at Bruce. “Not going to try ‘n… stop me?” He asks, shaking the glass so the ice clatters.

“I don’t imagine just taking the drink will do much to stop the urge.” Bruce says. “Go after the source, not the symptom, right?” Tony stares at him for a moment, grunts, and takes another sip. He doesn’t want to be analyzed. He’s the scientist, not the test subject. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s…” Something hits him in the back of the head. Surprised, he blinks, then looks up at Bruce. The man is smirking, and Tony feels a little of the fog in his head fading away. He’s nowhere near sober though. “Have you been holding that in since I hit you?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s not healthy.” He snorts into his drink as he takes another sip. “I should know.” Bruce is still waiting, turned to face him, watching him intently. It’s a little odd, and not because he’s being stared at – he’s very used to that – it’s just… he’s been scrutinized by Bruce, his buddy, and that’s weird… for some reason he can’t think of. He blames the alcohol.

He opens his mouth to tell Bruce to just go, leave him to his moping. “It’s not… I was just surprised. Seeing them together I didn’t – it just hit me, it’s over – I mean, I knew it was over… I guess I just didn’t think I’d be… I’d still be… well, it’s not like I’m carrying a torch for her or anything, I’m not in love with her, I know that now, but there’s still… I mean we were… it’s like I’m holding something smaller, something less one-true-love-y, like… I’m holding a scented candle.”

“… a scented candle?” Bruce mutters.

“Is that all you got out of all that?”

“I’m sorry, I just – you just said you were holding a scented candle of love for Pepper –“

“Not love!” Tony insists, almost swaying off the bar stool, but Bruce’s firm hands hold him up. “Not… not love. I’m not holding a torch for her, just – just something small.”

Bruce nods, eyes searching Tony’s face. “A scented candle.”

Tony nods. “Scented candle.”

There’s quiet for a moment. “… why is it scented?”

“Okay, I am trying to be open and trusting and spill my heart upon your ears and you’re focusing on the candle –“

“It’s just an odd choice of words –“

“I’m really good at that actually, and yes, it’s a scented candle, because Pepper likes perfume and she always smells of lilacs or lavender or some shit that belongs in a Bed Bath and Beyond.” Huffing, Tony turns to face the counter again, his chin resting in one of his hands. His fingers are splayed across his cheek, his eyes half closed. They fall quiet again, if but for a moment.

“So… you two?”

Tony grunts. “Yeah. A little while. Two, three months…? Think that’s a record. For me.” He grumbles that last bit into his glass. He empties it. He tries to ignore Bruce’s presence beside him, tries to pretend he’s still talking to himself. It makes unloading easier. He’s not even really sure what’s convinced him to talk, but he finds it hard to lie or deny to those bright earnest eyes. He’s pointedly not looking at those.

“What happened?”

A sputter of laughter escapes the billionaire. “What else?” He slams the drink down onto the counters, drops of liquid flying across the table. “Just me being my usual self.”

“She broke up with you?”

He shakes his head. “No, I broke it off. Couple of months ago.” Tony grips the glass tight. “Better off without me. She’s…. great person. Wonderful person. I always piss her off. Forget important things. Almost die and scare the crap out of her. I’m not… not the guy you get married, have kids, grow old with.” Mumbling, Tony lowers his head, staring into the empty glass. His face is spread across the ice cubes, deformed.

A hand comes onto his shoulder. “I know something about leaving the ones you love to protect them.” Bruce’s voice is closer than before, near his ear now. Tony leans over a little to check and yes, Bruce has move to stand right behind him. They are almost front-to-back. 

“Ross’s daughter.” He remembers reading something about that, something impersonal and short in Bruce’s file about a woman.

“Yes. Betty.” Bruce sighs and it tickles his ear. It is heavy, tinged with longing. “I’m not the family type either. Though I don’t think Betty really wanted that. I think she just wanted me. That… didn’t work out so well.”

A thought occurs, half-formed, to Tony, and he starts talking before the thought is finished. “Y’know, we should be un-marriageable, family-less guys together. Just doing science and saving the world. Like a sit-com, but with more explosions.” Tony mumbles. He realizes afterward that his thoughts were drifting somewhere and he’s not sure he’s drunk enough to contemplate that. Or is it that he’s not sober enough to consider it?

Bruce is laughing, and that distracts him. “I’d love to Tony. I’m not sure it will last.”

Tony snorts. “Probably right.” After all, everyone leaves him in the end. He doesn’t blame them either. The hand on Tony’s shoulder grips him tighter and he wonders if something’s wrong with Banner. “Bruce, you all right?”

“… yes, Tony. I’m all right.” The hand finally drops, and he moves to the front of Tony, taking the glass. Tony doesn’t fight. Bruce sets it on the bar and then puts one arm around Tony’s back, pulling Tony’s arm over his shoulder. He helps Tony stand, and hobble to the bed nearby. “For now.”

His vision is fading and blurring, like the memories, darkness clouding his eyes, and every noise sounds far away. Bruce’s face is over him, and he looks almost distraught. Tony doesn’t want him to look like that, wants him to feel safe and happy here, because he deserves that and because if he has that maybe he’ll stay longer, maybe he won’t leave… Tony likes the rest of the team, but Bruce is more than a teammate, he’s a friend. Tony doesn’t have many of those. 

“I am happy Tony.” Is someone speaking? In his half asleep daze, Tony’s not sure. “I just wish you were, too.” 

Tony’s asleep by the time Bruce stands and hits the lights.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


	6. Hulks and Hammers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce meet someone unexpected, there is sparring, and also explosions.

Pepper is not surprised that Tony has relapsed. Disappointed – not surprised.

She knows why, too; this is the exact reason why she kept her relationship with Natasha a secret. Well, one of the reasons. 

After the thing with Vanko, Natasha stayed with the company for a while. In those calmer times, the two were able to get to know one another and Pepper found she genuinely enjoyed her company. Natasha was witty, very intelligent, and fun, like Tony without all the headaches. They got along well.

Then Natasha returned to SHIELD (though Pepper didn’t know at the time) and she and Tony were together and it was great. It was easy to see that he was trying really hard, even if some of his habits refused to die. For a few weeks, it felt like true love, like the kind of once-in-a-lifetime thing that only ever happens in Rom Coms and Nicholas Sparks novels.

It didn’t last.

As with so much else in his life, Tony Stark is self-destructive in relationships. Even as he worked harder to be a good lover and boyfriend, Tony’s self-loathing and doubt fought to destroy what they were creating together. Pepper saw it, and struggled to make Tony see that he was worth it, that what they had was good, that he deserved this. For a while, she really thought they could make it work. In the end self-loathing won.

But Pepper knows Tony still loves her; maybe he’s not in love with her, but seeing her with someone else, someone he knows? That’s got to be tearing him apart. Which is the second reason why Pepper has told all of no one that she’s dating Natasha. 

The third reason is that Pepper sometimes still wakes up and can’t believe she’s dating Natasha. Beautiful, worldly, deadly Natasha Romanoff, who knows of intricate secrets and conspiracies Pepper can’t even imagine; who fought alongside Captain America to save Manhattan. It was hard enough believing that Tony Stark could have feelings for her – for some reason, it’s even harder to believe Natasha does.

The spy had shown up one day in Pepper’s office, asking her to lunch. The first time, Pepper had assumed it was a friendly thing, just two girlfriends having a bite to eat. It was only when they were eating lunch the third time, at a fancy restaurant that was almost Tony’s caliber that she realized ‘girlfriends’ might actually mean girlfriends.

And it had, and now they were, and it was nice. It has been three months, just a bit longer than her relationship with Tony, and Pepper finds this relationship suits her better. Yes, she loved Tony and a part of her heart would always belong to her lonely, brilliant, asshole of a boss, but they hadn’t worked out and she had to move on. She just wishes she could’ve kept it from Tony for a while more.

To be honest, she’s glad it’s out there now. She’s proud to be with Natasha. It can be hard – much like Tony (though she really has to stop comparing them, she thinks), Natasha clamps up about certain topics, is away a lot, and is very rarely able to discuss her job and the stresses she goes through for SHIELD. She has nightmares sometimes, terrible ones, and her shrieks cut Pepper’s heart to shreds. She has moods and gets distant, speaks in one-word blurbs and avoids eye contact for hours at a time. But every struggle is worth it, to be with her.

The plane shakes a bit and Pepper returns to reality, sitting up. Her gaze travels the small cabin in the back of Tony’s airplane, destined for a military base across the country. Once, Tony cooked her eggs in this plane, tried to convince her to go see the world. Shoving the bittersweet memory from her mind, Pepper turns to look at the bed. Tony is sleeping off his hangover, dark bags under his eyes. He looks weary, even when resting. Pepper feels her chest tighten and her hand rises to touch his brow, gently.

She is thrilled to be with Natasha; Pepper wouldn’t give up what they have for the world. Yet regret gnaws at her heart and she feels guilty that her joy is giving this man she loves, her ex-boyfriend, ex-boss, best friend, such terrible heartache.

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

At this point in his life, Bruce is something of a master at travel. He’s seen most of it, done most of it; he crossed half of Central and South America in a night, though he doesn’t remember much of it. For all his traveling, though, nothing can match the luxury of Tony’s private jet.

Bruce feels out of place, after so many years of traveling on foot through countries that most of the ‘civilized’ world knows scant little about, and cares even less. Bruce prefers those places and those ways of travel. In fact, the words ‘private jet’ would normally make him antsy, but this is Tony’s jet, which is different. Though, a few years ago he couldn’t have imagined someone like Stark inviting someone like him onto his private jet, much less for such a suicidal mission as this.

There’s an irritation under his skin, a burning itch which isn’t quite anger but is getting there. He’s on edge today, and it’s going to be all the easier to lose control. He fights it down, breathes deep, and closes his eyes, chasing thought away. It works after a few minutes. Only when Bruce hears Pepper opening the door to the hall does he open his eyes.

Her eyes are welling with tears, and worry is written in her face. Bruce tenses, unsure of how to deal with what might soon become crying. He’s terrible with his own emotions, much less the emotions of others. Relating to people has never been his strong suit. Luckily for them both, Pepper puts on a smile and the tears remained unshed, and in time they will dry up.

“He’s still asleep… probably will be for at least another hour.” Sighing, Pepper sits across from Bruce, a hand passing through her hair. It is usually tidy, but is now unkempt, pulled into a loose ponytail. “This is honestly rather tame, for him.”

“So I’ve heard,” He mumbles. He’s seen the tabloids. The whole world knows the exploits and failures of Tony Stark.

Pepper slumps into a seat, a hand coming up to her face. Her eyes fall closed and a soft sigh escapes her. “I’m really sorry you had to deal with him like this.”

He tries to chuckle, to be light hearted. It sounds pained. “No, it’s fine – really. He’s – he’s put up with plenty on my behalf. I owe him, anyway.”

Pepper’s fingers part, her eyes opening to gaze at him through the gaps. She’s smiling, if weakly. “From what I’ve heard, he’s the one who owes you.” Surprise must show on his face, because she grins, her hand falling away. “Tony told me about Manhattan. I’ve been meaning to thank you, but it always seemed –“

It takes a moment for him to realize what she’s saying. “Please, you don’t have to – it wasn’t really me. That saved him. It was –“ It was what? He doesn’t want to say a fluke, or an accident, and upset her, but he honestly can’t explain what it was or why the Hulk did it. 

“It was you.” Pepper insists. “And him. Both of you.” The woman pauses, heaviness settling into her shoulders, her face. She leans forward, an elbow balanced on her knee, a hand on her chin. “The two of you brought him back to me; I will always owe you for that.”

A huge lump catches in Bruce’s throat. He struggles for a moment to speak around it. “I… thank you.” He clears his throat. “… you aren’t afraid of him?” Bruce realizes the question might seem out of the blue for her, but for him, it is always relevant, always in the back of his mind.

“I might’ve been, before. But like I said, he saved Tony.” Pepper brushes a hand through her hair. “Not many would do that, you know. He’s… made enemies, even out of friends. And everything that’s happened recently, it’s seemed like I’ve always been just about to lose him; getting kidnapped, Obie, the thing with Vanko, hiding the fact he was dying from me…” Pepper sighs. “And then seeing the news coverage of New York, knowing he was there and being terrified that he wouldn’t come back…” Her eyes drift back to him and she smiles. “I’m honestly more afraid of you, Doctor.”

“Me?” Blinking, Bruce examines her eyes for a lie. He’s baffled to find he doesn’t see one. Then again, he’s not exactly on top of his game right now. He’s still reeling from trying to catch whatever Pepper was just saying. Something about Obie and Vanko and Tony was dying?

Pepper nods. “I don’t think you realize just how rare it is, for Tony to be so relaxed with someone he’s known for such a short time. He’s really opened himself up to you.” Her smile wans. “He’s been betrayed by too many people to survive it happening again. Please… don’t hurt him.”

Bruce shivers, a cold chill tracing his spine. “I can’t promise that.” As much as he’d like to, he knows he’s much more likely to hurt than help. “But I… I swear, I will try my damnedest not to.”

The woman nods. “Though I don’t want it to be… that will have to be enough.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Thor is staring at him. 

At least, Steve’s pretty sure he’s being stared at. Every so often he’ll feel this tingle and he’ll glance up, but by then Thor’s looking at the computer screen or drinking from his mug or staring at the window. Steve has yet to catch him in the act, but if there’s anything he knows, he knows when someone’s eyes are on him. Flushing, Steve realizes he’s now been staring at Thor, and turns back to the computer.

The two of them have been trying to formulate battle tactics but it’s devolved into Steve mulling over Thor’s strange behavior. More than just staring, he’s been oddly quiet all morning. His eyes have been distant, his face turned away, almost as if he’s lost in thought. He still pays attention and speaks up during planning, but he’s much less enthusiastic than usual. It’s out of character for him to not proclaim every battle plan as an “assured victory”.

The fact that Thor’s distracted is distracting him, because he’s worried and somewhat curious but mostly worried. Also, he might be a little terrified. Ever since the battle where he used Mjolnir, the rest of the team has been giving him weird looks, picking on him – or at least, he thinks it’s picking – and in the case of Thor, being introspective and distant. Steve is secretly shaking with fear that he somehow overstepped a boundary or broke a sacred Asgardian rule by wielding Thor’s weapon. 

He’s trying to think of how to apologize for doing something when he doesn’t know what he’s done, when he gets that feeling again. Instinctually, his eyes snap up, and this time, they meet a burning pair of eyes which stare right back. An intense rush takes his breath away when Thor does not shy away but smirks and holds his gaze.

What should he do? He can’t just look away because that would be embarrassing and maybe Thor would think it was childish or silly, but he doesn’t want to say anything because he’s really pretty sure he’s already dug himself a hole and he doesn’t want to dig it any deeper. Frozen – what a bad metaphor – Steve stares at Thor and waits for the god to do something, anything. When he doesn’t, Steve bites his lip, regrets that he did so, and then forces himself to speak.

“Uh, are – are you all right?”

The smirk becomes a smile. “I am well. And you, friend Steve?”

Something’s changed. He’s losing the feeling in his knees and sweat is building on his brow. The way Thor said those words – friend Steve – it’s different than before. Before, it had been warm and comforting, but now, now it’s almost… enticing. Steve’s mouth is suddenly dry.

“F – Fine. Great. Doing… great.” He glances away now, unable to hold his gaze anymore, looking back at their work again. He’s really not processing anything he’s looking at, but he’s trying to pretend he is so he won’t have to look at Thor anymore.

Wood scrapes against metal, and Steve’s head shoots up in surprise. Thor is standing, grinning at him. “Long have we sat here discussing battle.” Thor begins. “I find myself thirsting for it. Shall we spar?”

Steve spends a moment gaping at the man before he remembers that was a question and he should have an answer for it. “Uh – okay. Yeah, we can – let’s take a break.” Quickly he stands, arranging the work into a semi-organized pile, realizing he’s going to get next to nothing done anyway, given how distracted he is. Where is this coming from? He follows Thor to the training room in a daze, a thousand incoherent thoughts fluttering through his head. Is this going to be some kind of death match? Is Thor fighting to regain his honor? Maybe he’s mad and wants to take it out on the source of his irritation? That’s the worst one, to Steve. He’d like to think that Thor is his friend, and the idea that the man is angry at him hurts. He doesn’t have many friends. 

Now that he thinks of it, Thor may be his closest friend. His relationship with Tony is strained at best, but even if they were on good speaking terms, Tony and Bruce are too smart for Steve to simply hang around. He can hardly follow their trains of thought, most times. Natasha and Clint are better, but even they are hard to talk to. Steve will try and eventually stumble over something he doesn’t know, and he’ll lose track of the conversation. They’ll discuss some movie or recent political development and they’ll try to fill Steve in, but he knows they don’t always want to spend their time bringing him up to speed.

Thor’s the only one on Steve’s level. He’s not a genius, he’s even worse than Steve when it comes to knowing about human culture and society, and he doesn’t think Steve’s an antiquated idiot. At the same time, he doesn’t put him on a pedestal; he didn’t grow up with Captain America movies or comics or cards. Thor treats Steve like he would anyone else, and that’s rare to find. The thought that he’s irreparably hurt their relationship is painful.

Before he knows it, they’re in the training room and Thor is suiting up. He doesn’t put on the armor but he does summon his hammer to him. The sight always amazes Steve. Here is a man who is so much a warrior that with a mere thought he can call his weapon to him. Steve has tried imaging his shield like that, and it’s hard to do. He can’t imagine himself being so… so… accomplished? Majestic? Inspiring? He’s not really sure what’s he’s trying to say.

Now Thor’s looking at him with that same smirk, just waiting there, and Steve is suddenly very aware of the fact that’s he’s just been standing in the center of the room watching Thor get ready for the past few minutes. Face flushing red, Steve double times it to the locker room.

He returns in full uniform, shield on his arm, trying to ignore the way his stomach has tied itself into knots. Thor stands in the center of the room now, awaiting him, his smirk transformed into a hard, determined glare. In that look Steve finds his footing. Whatever this is about doesn’t matter right now. There’s a battle to be fought, if not won. Steve grips his shield and feels unsure of his prospects.

Compelled, Steve reaches up and pulls the cowl off. It puts distance between himself and his opponent, but that’s not what he wants with Thor. What he wants is to fix whatever rift has risen between them, to return to the way things were. He’d love to have another night like a few days ago, just eating pizza and talking late into the night. If a battle is what it takes to return to that, so be it.

-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==-=-

Head pounding, Tony Stark shoves a pair of sunglasses over his eyes and stands to saunter from his jet. Bruce is at his side, clearly on edge. He’s gripping his hands, huddling into himself as if he’s afraid to touch anything. Tony doesn’t really mind either way if the Hulk shows up today – it will have no bearing on his plan – but he knows Bruce would rather it not happen. He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Relax, big guy. Leave this to me.” He smirks. “And Pepper, of course.”

Said woman is adjusting her hair, pulling herself together into a more professional look. Bruce glances over his shoulder at her as they approach the front of the plane. “Is she not leaving with us?”

“Leaving after us,” Tony says. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all under control.” He figures Bruce will be a better actor if he doesn’t have the script.

They step into the sun and even with the glasses, pain stabs his head sharply. He’s practiced with this, though, so no sign shows up on his face. Either his practice isn’t as good as he thought, or Bruce is simply very perceptive, because the man turns and gives him a weak smile.

“Regretting last night?”

“Regretting doing it before, not after.” Bruce’s eyes narrow, and Tony stops himself just before promising he’s not going to drink tonight. He doesn’t think he will, doesn’t want to, but who can say?

They’re being approached by armed soldiers (of course), headed by a general of some sort, Tony’s not really paying attention to who, he just shakes hands, gives the customary greetings, and lets them lead the two of them inside. He sticks to Bruce’s side like glue, though he really doubts that anyone will try anything. Even the military wouldn’t be stupid enough to fight Fury, SHIELD, public scrutiny, and the power of the name Stark. Still, he figures staying close might make Bruce feel more comfortable. 

They enter an enormous military warehouse filled with soldiers, airmen, and scientists that Tony supposes is supposed to intimidate him somehow. He shrugs it off. He’s got the suit waiting to be called, if he needs it, not to mention the jolly green giant just behind him. The U.S. armed forces don’t stand a chance.

He’s brought to a table where the soldiers stop, salute, and are dismissed, and he finds a familiar face; an aged, wrinkled older man with peppered hair and hard eyes. Cold seeps into his bones as he feels Bruce stiffen beside him. This hadn’t been part of the plan at all. Still, Tony’s fantastic at improv.

“General Ross,” He mutters, giving a half-assed salute which he knows will piss the man off big time. Ross is the definition of gung-ho soldier. They never got along at all, but since Tony’s departure from the weapons industry, they’ve gotten along even less. Tony hadn’t thought that was possible. 

Of course, compared to Bruce, his relationship with Ross is all sunshine and roses. He’s never been captured, imprisoned, tortured, attacked, or chased across the world by the man. Thinking those things is not helping his composure. He smiles and it’s hard as stone. Ross’s face doesn’t change.

“Stark.” Ross mutters in reply. His eyes scan over Bruce but he never addresses the man with anything more than a sneer.

“I didn’t think the army was in the habit of sending relics to handle business deals.” Tony crosses his arms and if he takes a half step to the side, and moves in front of Bruce, it’s only to draw the other man’s attention to him. Recent events have already shown him the folly of trying to protect Bruce. (Of course, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t still want to try.)

“I’m not here to trade in bullshit.” Ross’s voice is grating, like nails on a chalkboard; there’s so much self-righteousness in it, he wants to throw up. Behind him, Bruce is tensing dangerously. Tony’s hand reaches back, grips the man’s wrist, and squeezes. “I’m here to make a deal of my own.”

“That’s really not going to work,” Tony starts. “See, for there to be a deal, each side has to have something the other side wants, and since I’m not currently interested in buying the stick up your ass, you have nothing to bargain with.” 

“You want the Division X files.” Ross interrupts, stepping forward. Tony would swear her heard Bruce growl. “I have the clearance you need.”

“The flaw in your logic is that I can buy the clearance I need. Therefore, you are unnecessary – thanks for the name though, very helpful –“

Suddenly they are surrounded by soldiers and red dots are covering their skin, and Tony feels the arc reactor struggling to keep up with his heartbeat. This was not the plan, not even a little bit, and he feels really stupid that he didn’t plan for this outcome, didn’t imagine Ross would rear his ugly head again.

“Either you make a deal, or I’ll simply take it.” Tony tenses at Ross’s voice; the man has a gun trained on him now, which Tony is pretty sure is suicidal given just how tense Bruce has become. The wrist beneath Tony’s hand is rock hard.

“You really think you can just take me?” Bruce speaks up for the first time, his voice a low rumble, more like the Hulk’s than his own. “How well has that turned out for you before?”

The barrel of a gun touches Tony’s chest, and suddenly he realizes Ross’s play. “If I can’t make a deal with you,” He mutters, leaning closer. “Then I’ll make one with him. Surrender quietly or I’ll put some more metal into Mr. Stark’s chest.”

Tony knows Ross would do it, too. He can hear his pulse in his ear and god this is going all wrong this can’t be happening – 

“The Hulk would kill you if you did.”

“And Stark would already be dead. You might escape, but he won’t.” Damn, damn, damn, it’s just the kind of bait Bruce would take and Tony hates himself for having fallen right into the trap.

“Even if he goes with you now, you’ll never get to keep him; you’ll have SHIELD and Stark Industries up your ass in a matter of hours.” Tony snaps, glowering at the man so close to him. “Not to mention, killing Tony Stark, Iron man? Kind of a bad publicity stunt. You thought your career was ruined before, think again.”

“It would be worth it to get this monster off the streets.” Ross hisses, his eyes narrowing. He actually, truly believes the shit he’s spouting, that he’s about to take a heroic fall to save mankind. “And once Banner is in our custody, I’ll make sure you and your spies never find him.” 

“Try me.” Tony’s shaking, he’s seeing red, his chest and throat are on fire and tight and the arc reactor burns. “Make an enemy of me. See what happens.” He’s already pushed the button and the armor’s on the way, but it’s going to be a few minutes. He could smack himself for not calling it the minute Ross walked over. If they take Bruce, if they take him, he’ll – he’ll – he’s gripping Bruce’s arm so tight the circulation would be cut off if Bruce were anyone else. His hands are shaking.

Then there’s a shout – a thud and heads are spinning – then the explosion.

-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-

Pepper is spitting Tony’s name like a curse word. She’s in her disguise, wearing a lab coat and some well-made, fake documentation, rushing as discreetly as possible towards the archive which, according to her girlfriend, has the information she needs. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she’s thrilled that no one’s stopped her yet. She can’t believe Tony gets her into these situations.

So far, the halls have been almost completely empty. Tony had been right; the arrival of Bruce Banner – the Hulk – obviously has the base in an uproar. It looked as if all non-essential personnel had been sent home, and all the soldiers were likely wherever Bruce was. Pepper desperately hopes it is just a precaution and the army isn’t about to try something stupid. 

Rushing through empty halls, Pepper enters a stairwell and takes the steps two at a time. In her pocket is the USB with the program she needs to get the info; stick it in, let it work its magic, take it out and tell Tony she’s ready to go. Then they all hightail it back to the plane and out. Over and over, Pepper repeats the plan in her mind, comforting herself with the thought that – so far – everything has been going smoothly.

Then the door to the computer lab opens and it is occupied. Pepper gives a gasp despite herself as a dark haired woman glances up.

The woman is in a lab coat too, her long hair pulled into a bun, glasses on her face. Beneath the coat, she wears a Metallica tee-shirt, dark blue jeans, and blue ballerina slip on shoes. Her eyes narrow, an eyebrow rising as she glances at Pepper.

“Excuse me, but who are you?” The woman got right to the point.

“I, uh – I’m –“ Before she could really say anything, the stranger storms over, taking a look at her ID.

“Pretty good for fakes, but I don’t know a ‘Virginia’ that works here.” Hands on her hips, the woman scrutinizes Pepper. “Not to mention, everyone’s been sent home.”

“Everyone but you?” It’s really not what she should be saying, but it’s what pops up in her mind.

The other woman stays quiet for a minute then gives a sigh, slumping against a nearby lab table. “My father knows that if he sent me home I’d just come back. That door has been locked against my card key, I can’t open it. Though I notice your fake one can…” Grinning, the woman stands up again, looking at the currently locked door. “I’ll make you a deal. Let me out, and I’ll forget you were ever here.”

Pepper isn’t a genius like Bruce or Tony, but she’s a smart woman. She can make connections and see relations with no problem. So, when she hears the woman’s father is keeping her locked up, and she looks at the woman’s name tag, and she remembers Bruce’s file, she puts it all together.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Pepper grins. She pulls the USB out of her pocket. “You help me get the info I need, and I’ll take you straight to the man you’re looking for, Ms. Ross.”

-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tony spins around and, for a split second, he could see the body which had fallen from the rafters – he is absolutely, 101% sure there was an arrow embedded in it. But then that arrow explodes and two arms wrap tight around his waist, and he and Bruce are flying through the air; the arms around his waist are growing and Tony grins, and when they land it doesn’t really hurt, it just jostles him a little. Landing on a giant green rage machine is softer than it sounds. 

An enraged roar fills the room and Tony could cheer, because while chaos has erupted, the two of them now stand a much better chance than they did before; though he’ll feel a lot better when his armor shows up. The Hulk stands, his hands holding Tony like he’s a doll. He expects the big guy to set him down, but is surprised when the Hulk pulls him to his chest, holding him tighter.

“Hey, buddy, what’re you –“ Then they’re flying and bursting up through the ceiling, flying higher and higher and Tony’s two thoughts are that flying is much more obnoxious when you’re not in a suit of armor; and now the Mark VII is never going to catch up because even his inventions don’t quite reach Hulk speed. “Hulk! Wait! Pepper’s still back there, we can’t just leave!”

But the Hulk isn’t speaking; his face is twisted into a snarl and every time his mouth opens, it’s a roar. Now they’re descending and Tony squeezes his eyes shut but his stomach is still flying into his throat and this is really disconcerting without a HUD and layers of metal between him and the air –

With a roar, they’re airborne again, moving further and further from the base, and Tony will simply have to rely on the fact that Pepper has been known to take care of herself. For now, he’ll just dig his hands into green muscles and try not to throw up.

-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-

There have been a lot of hard fights in Steve’s career, but he’s pretty sure this one is the hardest yet. In fact, he thinks fighting the Red Skull was easier than fighting Thor.

He is sore from head to toe and immensely grateful, once more, for the shield. Without it, he’d have broken his arm a dozen times. Even with it, every blow Thor lands with Mjolnir shakes him head to foot, shoots wicked pain through his arm and makes it hard to stand. He struggles to push back against its might, and each time, comes closer to being pinned to the ground. Thus far, he’s managed to push back.

Steve’s not sure how much longer that will last, though. Thor isn’t tiring, and he’s hardly managed to do a thing to the guy. The shield disorients him but hardly dents him, and punching him is like punching titanium. He’s holding his ground, but he’s definitely not gaining any. This is not a fight he thinks he can win, and he thanks his lucky stars that Thor is on their side.

Thor’s approaching again, from the right, attempting to get behind the shield, Steve guesses. He’s got a few options, but on a whim, takes the riskiest one: with a grunt, he sends his shield flying towards the opposite side of the room. Until now, he’s kept it close to keep Mjolnir at bay. He can see the surprise on Thor’s face; but the man quickly makes up for it by leaping at him, raising his hammer high. That’s what Steve had been hoping for.

The shield rebounds and slams into the side of Thor’s head, throwing him off. The hammer slips from his fingers, slamming into the ground as Thor is thrown a few feet away. With the man separated from the hammer, Steve rushes to grab the shield and pin the man before he can gain his footing. A light grin comes to his face with the realization that he might just win after all.

But Thor recovers quicker than he’d imagined; the man looks up, sees what he’s planning, and smirks. The shield is in his hands in mere seconds as Steve’s jaw drops and he slides to a halt. Thor stands tall, the shield facing Steve on the man’s left arm, and he holds his place. Steve realizes he’s disarmed and glances at the hammer at his feet, almost reaches for it, then flinches. His eyes rise to look at Thor, whose gaze is almost taunting.

Stumbling for what to do, Steve eyes dance between Thor and the hammer. It’s almost as if he wants him to take it, but what if it’s a trick or test of some sort? He’s being driven mad by nerves when suddenly a laugh fills the room. Steve’s head snaps up.

“You seem so confused, friend,” Thor is grinning, still in a battle pose, but more relaxed. “What ails you? I have taken your shield – surely it is only fair for you to use Mjolnir?”

“But – I –“ Fumbling, Steve sighs heavily and he runs a hand through his hair. “You seemed – odd, after I did it before. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

“Not at all.” Thor grins, his posture relaxing somewhat. “I apologize for concerning you. It is only that… what you have done, I did not believe could be done.” Approaching with the shield at his side, Thor comes to stand by Steve. He kneels and takes the hammer, holding it out. After some hesitation, Steve takes it, both hands curling around the handle. It is impossibly heavy, but he can hold it.

Thor turns it in his hands, until one side with a Celtic knot marking is facing up. “You see this?” Thor points to it and Steve nods. “This is an enchantment, created by my father. Only those who are worthy of wielding Mjolnir will have the strength to lift it from the ground. Many have tried – only one has succeeded… until you.”

Steve’s pretty sure his heart has stopped beating. He may or may not be breathing, either. “Me?”

Thor is smirking. “Even the mighty green one could not lift it.”

The words are making sense but Steve can’t wrap his mind around the meaning. Staring at the hammer, Steve suddenly feels very self-conscious and pushes it back towards Thor.

“I’m sorry for the other day, I shouldn’t have assumed –“ Red faced, Steve tries to hand it over. A hand large enough to cover both of his falls upon him.

“If I have upset you, I apologize, I only meant –“ Now it is Thor’s turn to look confused, and Steve feels bad that he created that. “I meant to commend you. Never did I think in coming to Midgard I would find another worthy of Mjolnir.” He smiles and Steve’s chest tightens. “Though I am very glad I have. You are a good man, Steve Rogers. I am honored that Mjolnir considers you my equal.”

All Steve can think is, what in the world is he supposed to say to that?

He doesn’t, in fact, get to say anything to that – JARVIS speaks up instead.

“Forgive the intrusion, sirs, but there has been an incident with Dr. Banner at the military base.”

Both men are on alert, suddenly snapped out of the stupor they’d both been in. “What happened? Are they okay?”

“They are both safe and have escaped, but have left my range. I am unsure of their location.” It takes no more than that to have both Avengers suiting up for real and rushing out the door.

-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=--

Ross. Tony. Get away. Leave Hulk alone!

No… not quite right. Ross leave Hulk and Tony alone. Hulk would make Ross leave alone… but Tony puny, weak. Might get hurt. Run away better.

Hulk runs, leaping further and further, wanting space between Ross and Hulk and Tony. Can’t let Ross hurt Tony. Hulk glances down to see the man, gripping his arm and staring wide eyed at the world. Hulk remember that puny humans not so good at jumping. Maybe Hulk should stop soon.

Hulk finds cave in mountains far from Ross, where Tony can be safe. He lands, puts Tony on the ground, and puny human can’t even stand. Tony’s legs wobble and he falls against the cave wall, face red like blood and eyes big. Hulk grunts, stands in the mouth of the cave, watching Tony. Tony slumps against the wall, slides to the ground, little chest moving fast. Light comes from chest, and Hulk remembers. Light good – light means Tony’s okay. Tony’s okay.

He grumbles, happy, and plops down in the cave mouth. Keep eye on Tony, stay between Tony and Ross. Tony turns to Hulk, saying lots of words. Tony always says lots of words, lots more than Hulk or even Banner. Says too much. Hulk only say what important. Tony say important, unimportant, stupid stuff. Always talking.

Hulk not listen to most of it, just grunt. Tony stands and approaches and Hulk growls, sitting up straighter. Tony can’t go, dangerous. Need stay in cave. Hands come up, Tony goes back into the cave. Good. Hulk relaxes.

Tony stops talking for a minute and Hulk happy for the quiet. Doesn’t last. Tony talking again, and Hulk listen but it’s unimportant. Stupid stuff. Banner would listen – Banner always listens, listen too much, encourage stupid talk.

“Why talk so much?” Hulk grunts. “Nothing to say.”

“Did the Hulk just tell me to shut up?” Tony sound surprised. Hulk grunts. “What the hell?”

“Tony talk too much.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble big guy, but I can’t help it, okay? I talk when I’m nervous, so –“

“Stop being nervous.” Hulk says forcefully. “No need feel nervous. Hulk smash.”

“Hulk smash what? Me?”

Hulk growls angrily. Stupid talk. “No. Hulk smash what make nervous.” But what if Hulk what make nervous? Like with Betty? 

“Oh.” Tony says. Then laughs. “Then that would be me.”

Hulk grunts, doesn’t get it. Tony saying stupid stuff again. “Tony makes no sense.”

“Got me there, buddy.” Tony stands, moves around the cave. “Y’know, I think you’re language is improving. You’re definitely talking more, and in more complicated patterns. Maybe more time ‘outside’ interacting with others is improving your communication and…”

Hulk gives a grumble and frowns. Tony going to talk all night. Needs to be quiet, so Hulk can listen for Ross. Hulk glance over shoulder, huff. No one yet. Ross will come. Ross never stops.

Touch! Something close! Hulk turn to look, growl and hunch over, ready to smash. Hulk stop when sees its just Tony. Hulk feel… bad? Scared Tony. But Tony not look scared – still touching Hulk’s leg with a hand, smiling. Why not scared?

“You okay, big guy?” Tony asks. “You seem kinda distracted.”

Grunting, Hulk glance at the woods again. “Ross.”

“Yeah, what a dick.” Tony laughs. Hulk gives a moan, the cave rumbles and shakes. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, everybody’s okay! We got away!”

“Ross comes after. Always comes after. Comes to hurt Hulk, to take Betty.” Hulk turn to look at Tony. “Won’t hurt again, won’t take Tony!”

Tony looks sad. Hulk remembers Ross tried to hurt Tony – Tony hurt? Tony makes strange sound as Hulk’s hands pick him up, turn him around, over. Hulk looks for red but sees nothing. Tony looks okay. 

“Heeey, give a guy a little warning, huh? I mean, we haven’t even had a first date yet, not that I haven’t gotten this far with some people without a date…”

When Hulk decide Tony okay, Hulk sets Tony down, pulls his arms in to his chest. Wait for Ross. “Ross will come. Hulk will smash.” Hunkering down, Hulk prepares to wait.

Hand is back, on leg. Hulk just grunts this time. Tony looks sad and Hulk angry – if Tony not hurt, why Tony sad? Hulk will smash what make sad!

“Hulk, buddy… I think you got us far enough away that it’ll take those morons a year and a half to find us. By then, JARVIS will have told the Avengers and they’ll have already come to get us. You remember the others, right?”

Hulk grunts. “Hulk not stupid. Banner think so, but not.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Hulk.” Tony says. Hulk not sure believe. Tony good, not lie, but everyone thinks Hulk stupid. Then again, everyone afraid of Hulk – except Tony. “Look, I’m saying, you can relax, okay? You don’t have to be all pent up rage all the time. You can… you can just take a break, okay?”

Hulk blink at Tony. Puny human grins. “Look around. There’s nobody to smash, nobody trying to hurt you. Just you and the big, wide, wilderness. And me, but I can be quiet, I promise. You can do whatever you want out here.”

Hulk listen to words for once and sound nice. No hurt, no stupid humans, no Ross? Burning hot rage rises up inside Hulk. “Puny human!” Hand smashes into wall. “Always hurt! Always need smash! Ross comes! People come! Hurt Hulk, always! Must smash!”

“Hulk! Hulk!” Tony touch leg with both little hands. Hulk not sure why Tony do that. No one touches Hulk. Not even Betty. “It’s okay. Nobody’s coming. I promise, they’re not going to make it out here in time. Tonight, we’re alone. You’re alone.”

Not true, can’t be true. Never alone. Always attacked. “Hulk will smash!” Hulk stands, slams hands against wall, feet against floor. “Just want to be alone! Leave Hulk alone!”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” Tony moves away, stops touching. “I’ll leave you alone, Hulk. I’m leaving you alone!” Moves further and further away, to back of cave. Hulk stop smashing, stomping, look at Tony. Tony eyes wide, hands up. Red is on his face. Did Hulk make that red? 

Tony stopped talking, stopped touching, is hurt. Hulk made him hurt. Hulk made him scared of Hulk now, for sure. No more touching or talking. Hulk alone. Hulk gives a pitiful moan and drops to the ground, shaking the cave. Head lowers, arms curling in, pulling legs in. Hulk alone.

“Hulk alone…”

Cave quiet, Tony quiet. Hulk sad. 

“Hulk…?”

Tony talking? “Tony scared. Hulk sorry make red.”

“I’m not scared, Hulk. I’m worried.” Tony move closer again. Arm wipes against red, it goes away. “I’m worried about you big guy. You don’t sound very happy. I’m starting to understand why you’re so pissed off all the time.” Hulk grunt.

“Tony worry about Hulk?”

Tony nods. “Yeah.”

“No one worry about Hulk.”

“I do.”

Hulk grunt, turn away. “Not Hulk. Worry about Banner.”

“I worry about both of you. You’re both important to me.” Hulk turn back.

“Hulk… important?”

Tony nod again. “Yeah.” He stands next to Hulk leg. He touches again. “You’re important to me. And I swear to God, I’m not going to let Ross or anyone else get you. Never again. They’ll have to go through Metal Man first.”

Hulk growl. “NO! No touch Metal man!”

“They won’t get me, either, I promise!”

“Hulk smash!”

“Yeah, you’ve got my back, right? Like when you caught me?”

Hulk not understand ‘got back’, but understand smash. “Smash Ross.”

“Close enough. We’ll smash Ross.” Tony grins. “But for now, let’s just calm down, enjoy the peace and quiet, maybe take a nap?”

Stiffening, Hulk glares at Tony. “Hulk no go back yet!”

“Not that kind of nap! I meant you. I mean, you don’t sleep? Y’know, besides when you’re in Bruce?” Tony frowns. “Do you eat? Do anything?”

Hulk grunts, shrugs. “Smash.”

“Yeah, got that much.” Tony sighs, hand touches head. “Well, whatever you do, I’m tired as fuck so I’m going to sleep off this killer hangover. Okay?” Tony walks over to wall, sit against it, closes eyes. Hulk watches. Time pass and Tony grunts, complains, says stupid stuff. “Next time we have a camping trip, let’s remember to actually pack things, huh? And make a plan and all that jazz.” Tony wrap arms around self. “Damn, it’s cold.”

“Tony okay?” 

“Hmm?” Tony looks up. “Yeah. Hey, you wanna move over this way?” Hulk stares. “Y’know? Against the wall? You’ve gotta be warmer than the rock.” Hulk grunts. “Urgh, fine, dammit…” Tony stands, brushes off legs, then walks to Hulk. He looks up at Hulk. “You mind?” Hulk not sure what Tony doing. Just grunt. Then, Tony shrugs, and climb up on Hulk’s leg. Hulk watch as Tony move to lean against Hulk’s chest. “Definitely warmer. More comfy too.”

Hulk stare. Tony touching. Tony… sitting on Hulk. Close to Hulk. Tony do things even brave Betty too scared to do. And Tony not scared. Not even when Hulk accidentally make red. Not when Hulk smash or roar. Not scared, not think Hulk dumb. Sits on Hulk.

“Night, big guy,” Tony grumble, closing eyes. He leans on Hulk. Not scared. Just sit with Hulk. Already sleeping. Hulk look down at puny, weak human, so soft and easy to hurt. Looking around cave, Hulk hold Tony tight and stand, move to sit against cave wall. Leans back, keeps Tony close. Slowly, puts arms around Tony. Keeps safe from stupid humans. Tony says they won’t come. Hulk prepared in case. 

Tony sleeps all night. Hulk doesn’t sleep. Hulk waits, watches, holds Tony. Nobody comes. Tony sleeps, doesn’t talk. Touches Hulk. Not scared.

Hulk happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: About my interpretation of Betty Ross. I liked the character in the first two Hulk movies, but felt like she had potential that was ignored. My Betty is a mixture of movie Betty and some creativity, since we learn so little about her in the movies other than she cares for Bruce. I've not ready many Hulk comics, so I'm not really pulling on Betty from the comics, either. If she seems really, really out of character, please comment and tell me so.


	7. Unpredictable Variables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony had not planned on Betty Ross reappearing in Bruce's life. Thor had not been prepared to find an equal in a mortal. And Natasha was not ready for all that this mission would turn out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, everyone, for all the kind replies! When I wrote this story, I never imagined the Hulk portions would be so popular. I'm glad I'm not the only one who loves him! And by popular demand, there will be more of him... eventually! But not this chapter.

“Does anyone have a fucking clue how Thaddeus fucking Ross knew we were going to be at that particular base, at that particular time?” Tony shouts, holding a hand to his head. “Because I would really like to fucking know that.”

So would Steve, though he would have worded it a little more politely and with a few less. Only a few, though, because he is stiff head to toe and his head is pounding and he’s about as stressed out as Tony, and would also like to know how the Hulk’s arch enemy knew where to find him. He doesn’t know much about Ross, but after today he’s had enough of the man for a lifetime. 

Steve has all the respect in the world for the armed forces; he’s fought side by side with them, seen soldiers lay down more than just their lives for more than just their country. But Steve couldn’t see any of that in Ross. There’s a big difference between thinking you’re doing what is right and actually doing it, and he thinks Ross embodies that difference rather well.

“I told you it was the worst idea you ever had.” Bruce grumbles from beside Tony, slumped, obviously worn to the bone. His face is pale, bags under his eyes, and he looks as if he could use a meal or three. 

“Yeah, well, I hadn’t counted on Ross still having a rage boner for you after all this fucking time,” Tony slumps into the chair, looking a little too tired to keep his usual air about him. He had a rough night, too. 

“Then you don’t know Ross very well.” Bruce manages to chuckle some.

“Well, I think we can consider it a win. Pepper got the info, I blew up the bad guy; it’s all good.” Clint adds.

“That’s a nice segue way into discussing why you were shadowing Bruce and Tony instead of on your mission with Agent Romanov.” Steve has a hand over his face, eyes shut, feeling once again that the title of leader fits him badly. Shoulders slumped, stomach twisted in knots, he feels less like a leader and more like a sham.

“One word: Ross.” His feet on the table, Clint is fiddling with his bow in his lap, eyes down. “We caught wind of the guy heading towards you two and figured you could use the assist. Well figured, I think.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone, why?” 

“All happened kinda fast, Cap.” Clint shrugs. “Sorry.”

He wants to be mad, irritated at least, at the man for disobey orders and ignoring the mission plan; but he can’t forget that Clint’s interference is what kept a sniper from shooting Bruce with a tranquilizer that could kill an elephant.

“And Miss Ross?” Steve opens his eyes, putting his arms on the table. In the corner of his eye he sees Bruce perk up. “How did she become involved?”

“Pepper rescued the damsel in distress from yonder tower and her nefarious, mustache-twirling father, and has brought her to the magical land of science and pop tarts -” Thor, who Steve could have sworn was actually asleep a moment ago, sits up in his chair. “- and returned her to her prince charming, who did not rescue her only because he was busy being my big green rescuer.” Tony claps Bruce on the shoulder and addresses him, a thin grin on his weary face. “It’s Tangled meets Beauty and the Beast meets Brave, and it should really be awkward considering it’s your ex and mine and…”

Steve’s headache is getting worse. “Tony.” 

“Right. Shutting up.”

“Can we please learn how to copy the Stressed Steve voice? Because I would love to have the ability to shut him up that quick.”

“Barton.”

“Zipping it.”

-=--=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As a scientist, Betty has become used to facing impossible, extraordinary, seemingly unexplainable things. Many a time she’s been faced with data she can only partially understand or comprehend, and been forced to work with it. Often, she’s jumped half-cocked into a project on which she has only half the variables. Explosions are often the result.

This way of thinking is aiding her now. In the past few hours she’s helped a stranger steal government secrets, snuck out of her father’s base with said stranger, hitched a ride on a Stark airplane, and joined the merry hero band in their tower all for the sake of Bruce. Who she still hasn’t seen yet. Not that she’s impatient or anything.

She knows this is likely to get her fired or worse, even with her dad being General and all – she also knows she doesn’t care. Her dad is going to pitch a fit to rival the Hulks when he learns what she’s done, and she can honestly say she hopes she is present for it and can get it on camera. It’s likely to be priceless. The fact is the consequences really don’t matter. She hasn’t seen Bruce in so long she thinks she’d do anything to get to him.

She’s not really sure what she’ll do when she sees him, though. But that’s nothing new. For years, their relationship has been ambiguous and inexplicable. They were friends, lovers, confidantes, vigilante partners; the definition of ‘them’ always changing. All she knows is she cares for him and has to see with her own eyes that he’s okay, that the ‘Avengers’ or whatever aren’t keeping him against his will as a weapon.

Which is why she is currently sitting at a computer terminal with Pepper Potts, looking over the information they stole and trying to make head or tails of it.

“Division X… I’ve never heard of this before.” Betty mumbles. “Not that that’s a surprise or anything.”

“The day the government is open and honest with the public about something is the day I’ll be surprised.” Pepper remarks, still filing through the data.

Laughing, Betty shakes her head. “Yeah, that’ll be the day. Peace and love will dominate the globe and my father and Bruce will shake hands and all will be forgiven.”

“Never going to happen.”

“Never.”

Betty takes a sip of the coffee Pepper was kind enough to help her obtain (half coffee, half milk, two sugars) and leans forward, glancing over Pepper’s shoulder. “Wait, hold on.” Pepper stops scrolling, the screen paused on an image of a building. A blue print. “What in the world is that?”

“You’re the scientist, not me.” Pepper snorts. Clicking the screen, she zooms in, reading some of the details. “It’s huge, but the actual dimensions are small. It’s a lot of empty space and maybe fifteen square feet of room you can actually walk on.”

“It’s a device of some sort, but for what I can’t tell.” Which is irritating, since there’s nothing about this that is encrypted or hidden or written in code. It’s just a blue print for a strange looking room. “Perhaps part is missing. It seems incomplete… I mean, that can’t be all there is to it.”

“Don’t ask me – I’ll let the science bros tackle that one.”

Blinking, Betty quirks an eyebrow. “Science bros?”

“The team’s nickname for Bruce and Tony.” It takes a minute for Betty to realize Pepper is referring to the Tony Stark. “The resident geniuses and home-wreckers.”

“That sounds like a story to me.” Betty grins, but behind the look she is completely uncertain: unsure of how to feel or what to think. She’s thrilled, thrumming with joy that Bruce is back, that he’s okay, maybe even happy. She’s terrified he’s being somehow coerced or held against his will. At the same time, a dark, bitter part of her heart is damning every bastard in the building for being able to live and work with Bruce without it being a constant struggle as it always was for her.

“The two of them managed to burn one of Tony’s houses down.” Pepper steps away from the computer, stretches her back as she stands. “To be honest, it was mostly Tony’s fault. 98% his fault. That 2% I blame Bruce for because he let Tony hide in the workshop for too long.”

There’s something awkward in talking about fire and destruction in relation to Bruce Banner and completely omitting the big guy. It’s like the elephant in the room, only greener and a bigger insurance liability. Also, he’s a tad bit more terrifying. Betty’s mouth is dry and she’s not sure how to take this peppy red head light heartedly joking about house fires and the Hulk and how they’re related.

“And, um, how did Bruce take the fire?” Betty murmurs reluctantly.

“He saved Tony’s life.” Pepper looks directly at Betty and the brunette suddenly realizes that Pepper is simply not going to tiptoe around the Hulk, at all. That’s refreshing, if not also a bit concerning. “For the second time, actually. Yesterday was the third. We should really be keeping a tally at this point.”

“Sounds like it.” Betty mumbles and looks away. She feels slightly ashamed, and angry for feeling ashamed, because how dare this stranger make her feel ashamed for how she feels about the Hulk? She’s been there for Bruce since the beginning. She was there at his first transformation, she held tight to his sweating, naked body as he convulsed and turned back into himself again, shaking and sick. Despite the army, despite her father, she stood by him and never backed out, no matter what happened. She knows Bruce Banner and the Hulk better than anyone.

Yeah, the Hulk scares her. He’s eight feet of pure unadulterated rage and power, and she’s all of five foot five. She’s sure he’d never hurt her on purpose, but she’s seen his accidents. They are not pretty. But just because she’s scared doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about both of them and won’t fight to protect them. After her father, she figures the Avengers will be a piece of cake.

\--=-=-=-=-=-===-==-=-=-

Though he knows it is unkind of him, Thor is very irate with Tony and the Hulk currently.

Logically, he knows they did not plan to interrupt his day, but he doesn’t feel like thinking logically at the moment. He’d been enjoying a wonderful bout with the Captain and had finally broached the subject of Mjolnir when the emergency had occurred and they had been called away. Forgive him for being a little bitter.

Thor is still in something of a stupor over that subject: the fact that Steve Rogers, a mortal, can lift the mighty Mjolnir.

He can remember the day he was first given Mjolnir; even then, before the Allfather’s spell, it had been a special and temperamental weapon. The warrior who could wield it well was few and far between, and none did so better than Thor. In his hands, Mjolnir shone like the star it was born from, it leveled mountains and tamed seas. No other could wield it so. It was an honor to be its bearer, though at the time he did not see it as anything other than a tool, an extension of his will.

After being forced to re-earn the right to wield Mjolnir, the hammer has become something more to him. It is a symbol, a comfort even; both a memory of home and brighter days and a gift that gives him the ability to protect those he loves and the worlds he inhabits. Without it, he could not have broken the bridge, nor turned back the Destroyer, nor fought so well against the invasion.

Some might think that Thor would be jealous to have Mjolnir obey another, but not so. It is… complicated. There is a duty bound in Mjolnir that is a heavier burden than the hammer itself. It takes more than physical strength, but strength of soul, a conviction to protect. The one who lifts Mjolnir from the ground must do so for the right purpose. It takes absolute dedication and selflessness to lift the hammer to the sky and slam it down upon the enemy.

Being that person is a burden unto itself. He became that person when he gave up Midgard, gave up Jane, to stop Loki’s attack on Jotunheim. He became that person when he faced his brother down to protect Midgard. Though he knows his fellow Avengers have made sacrifices for the cause, he has difficulties weighing them alongside his own. He gave up his home, his old way of living and looking at the world, recreated himself into a new man to lift the hammer again. Then, he lifted it against the one he loved most in all the worlds. The price to wield Mjolnir was as high as it could possibly be.

Seeing another lift the hammer is heartening to him. In Steve, he has a kindred spirit, one who has lost and suffered; who knows the weight of Mjolnir, the burden, and has born it with no complaint. It was in that moment, seeing Steve cross the field of battle with Mjolnir at his side, that Thor realized he had found an equal in such an unlikely place as this.

He thinks that if things had been different, if he had changed his ways before, Loki might be the one beside him now, sharing Mjolnir’s weight. There was a time when his brother was worthy, he is sure of it. And he is sure he can be worthy again. 

It is… hard, knowing what Loki has become. Worst still is acknowledging how large a hand he had in that transformation. He sees his own handiwork in all of Loki’s scars, in the pain in eyes during their battles, the tears which pour down his face. It finds it hard to fault Loki, or even hate him, for his deeds. More often, he hates himself.

The sound of a knock at his door pulls Thor out of his reverie; he’s sitting by his window in his room in the Tower, which is slightly uncomfortable given his stature. “Enter,” His booming voice fills the room and a moment later, the door opens. 

“Hey,” It’s Steve, looking somewhat reticent as he steps into the room. Thor tries to smile, but it doesn’t stay on his face long. It feels like a chore to attempt cheer without feeling it, and here in his room, with Steve, he doesn’t feel like faking. The other man seems to notice, his brow furrowing. “You okay?”

“I will be, in time,” He murmurs, and believes it for the most part. He’s been alive long enough to know that pain truly does fade with time, but he also knows it never fully fades away. “What brings you here, friend?” 

Steve pauses, eyes drifting to the ground, his hands clenching at his sides. Though many consider Thor to be dense, and would perhaps be correct, he is not as thick as many would believe. Steve is… shy, the mortals would say. To see him so self-assured in battle, and yet so soft-spoken outside of it, is odd to the brash warrior. His deeds in battle reflect his attitude outside it, and he had always assumed the same was true of everyone else. Before falling to Midgard, he would have believed Steve to be a spineless wretch – once again, he deeply regrets the person he once was.

“Just, uh, though you could use the company.” He steps forward some, hands behind his back. “We never did finish that conversation, from before. Unless you want some time alone…” He points back to the door, taking a half step back towards it. Thor stands.

“Nay friend; I could… use the company.” He doesn’t want to be left alone to his thoughts, for he knows all too well who he will dwell on. There’s no use brooding over what cannot be changed. “Though, perhaps we should find ourselves a more comfortable setting?”

Steve glances around, quiet for a moment. “Want to spar?”

Thor beams in reply.

-=-=-=-==-==-==-=-==-=-=-=-==

 

It is the day after Tony and Hulk’s camping trip, as Tony likes to refer to it, and he and Bruce are up at the ass-crack of dawn for no discernible reason, though Bruce insists that Tony has a vendetta against sleep and that he was roped into it.

But Tony’s not really thinking about himself and his reasons right now (Shocking, he knows). Though he isn’t exactly known for being considerate of the feelings of others, Bruce is actually, maybe, possibly making him feel a smidgen of concern. 

The man looks stiffer and more stressed than he usually does, walking with his head down and keeping his arms at ninety degree angles, which honestly looks painful and makes him seem like a robot. Tony doesn’t think he’s eaten since before noon yesterday, and he knows he hasn’t slept because neither of them has slept a wink all night. Tony blames it on the excitement of being Hulk-napped; Bruce hasn’t given any clue as to why he’s restless. They might be friends, but he knows the man didn’t stay up the whole night to keep him company.

Two words: Betty Ross. 

They haven’t so much as walked down the same hallway since her arrival. This is partly due to the work she and Pepper are drowning themselves in, but Tony knows it’s mostly because Bruce has been avoiding her like mad. That is why he’s still awake down here; he’s hiding. Tony’s done the same thing enough to recognize it in others. And really, it’s ridiculous. Though there’s a small voice in the back of his mind saying something about “pot, kettle”, but he’s ignoring it.

“So, when‘re you heading topside to see the pretty lady?” He begins with no preamble, still looking for all intents and purposes as if he’s working. Bruce sighs across the table, a hand going to his glasses.

“Don’t start, Tony.”

“What? I’m just curious because I’m sure it’s going to be a heartbreakingly romantic reunion and I’d like to be prepared. I’m allergic to sincere emotions.” He gives a shrug, sighs as if he’s admitted something that has weighed heavily upon his heart, and then waves a hand through the air. “But enough about me – I can hardly believe I said that – this is about you and your Princess Peach.”

Bruce stares for a moment; suddenly he shakes his head. “Tony, that’s not –“

“You’re right, bad comparison. Your Elita-One?” That response puts a baffled look on Bruce’s face and shuts him up, so Tony rambles on. “What, I was going with a heroic theme –“

“You went from Mario to the Transformers. And Betty’s not a robot.” Bruce is frowning, but he’s playing along with the game, so he can’t be that annoyed. Maybe. 

“The point is when are you going to go sweep your Zelda off her feet?” Tony shrugs, gesturing at the door. “I could have JARVIS play Coldplay to set the mood, if that helps.”

Bruce blinks at him. “Zelda?”

“What? Link is green.”

Shaking his head, Bruce turns away and shuffles to another computer, shoulders hunched. “Tony, there’s no reunion, romantic or otherwise. It’s…” For perhaps the fifth time in as many minutes, the man gives a heavy sigh. “It’s better for everyone involved if I just stay away.”

“If this is going to be one of those ‘If you love them, let them go’ speeches, I will find something pointy and poke you with it. And this time, there’s no Captain America to come to your rescue.” Tony crosses the room and stands by Bruce, leaning his hip against the man’s desk. “Which is a shame, he’s really very good at the heroic rescue; I’m kinda jealous –“

“Tony,” Bruce’s voice is low, serious, and any trace of joking has left it. “Tony, I – I ruined her life. We had problems even before the – the Hulk showed up, but afterwards it all went to hell. She lost her job, her relationship with her father, she was hurt because of me.” He takes his glasses off his face, drags a hand down over his eyes. “How can I just walk back into her life as if none of that ever happened?”

“Easily, since it really didn’t happen. At least, not the way you’re thinking.”

Tony had opened his mouth to speak, but he falters when he realizes that was definitely not his voice, or Bruce’s. Then he realizes it could only be JARVIS’s doing and thinks he might want to let up a little on giving the AI his own consciousness and ability to make decisions, because while he had wanted the two to reunite, he had not wanted to be present for it.

“Right. Romantic reunion, allergic to emotions, I’ll just –“ He points to the door and begins backing away, but no one is listening to him. 

Bruce has frozen, his hands gripping the desk almost tight enough to break it, his head lowered. A rumble rises from his chest that is half Bruce, half the beast inside him. “Betty.”

The woman is crossing the room with long strides, almost running by the time Bruce turns around and at that point, it’s magnetic, they are drawn to each other as Bruce opens his arms and she leaps. Tony feels his stomach twist as they pull each other closer, tighter, one laughing, the other’s mouth dropped open but making no sound. He can see how taut Bruce’s muscles are, how carefully he’s moving, while the woman simply wraps herself around him as much as she can, jean-clad thighs moving around his legs, arms tight around his neck. She’s laughing and crying and Tony feels bile in his throat and is pivoting on his foot and moving across the lab. He’s not sure where he’s going or what door he’s leaving through, but he’s leaving now, right now.

“Sir, is it safe to –“

“Mute.” He mutters and stomps away, thinking of equations and patterns. He’s thinking he’s an idiot and it’s just making sense now, everything is, and he hates everyone whose name was ever Ross and he hates the color green because he loves it. He’s looking over the data and arriving at the one possible conclusion and he wants to stamp on it, to snuff it out but he can’t. Storming the halls, he tries to think of solutions and every one that comes to mind is shattered by this new variable, this Betty Ross, of whom he is suddenly and inexplicably jealous.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Natasha has infiltrated many places for many reasons and has never felt any guilt or reservation. There has always been – at least, since SHIELD – an adequate reason for the action. But tonight, despite how important this mission is, she has quite a few reservations about where she’s infiltrating.

It hadn’t been easy to connect the dots and find the location of Charles Xavier; though the man isn’t exactly hiding. He’s in New York, not far from the Avengers tower, living in a somewhat secluded mansion. There is no problem with any of that – the problem is who is living with him.

Children. Children of all ages, from the very young to the young adults, are staying in this mansion. If she didn’t know better, she would think the place is a halfway house for runaways and the neglected. But there’s something else going on here, she can feel it. 

Clearly, she has reservations embarking on a mission where the casualities, if there are any, are likely to be under the drinking age. Yet she’d be lying if she believed that was all it was. There is something hauntingly familiar in the faces of these young people, in their situation, where they are. She can feel it. These kids have felt the despair and isolation of having nowhere to turn. For a moment, she remembers Barton. 

Natasha shakes those thoughts aside and moves on with the mission; she needs to get inside, figure out what the connection is between Xavier and the government, and what any of it might have to do with Tony. Though she doesn’t always act like it, she’s fond of the man. He’s more than he likes to make himself out to be, and he’s honestly a kinder man than most of those she’s met. He would hardly believe her if she said it, though, so she keeps her opinions to herself. Secretly, she’d prefer it if he didn’t die.

Within minutes, she’s inside the mansion. It’s late; the children, who she’s been keeping an eye on throughout the day, are mostly asleep. Some of the older ones are awake and playing games in the living areas, on the second floor. She avoids those places, as she doesn’t want to attract attention and she’s relatively sure the information she needs is not with prepubescent teens.

The halls are ornate, well decorated, and clearly the house is maintained with some care. For a moment she entertains the dark thought that this place might be a gilded cage for these children, that they might be here for a sinister purpose. She remembers the team meeting, and the discussion that this might all relate to government experiments. Is that what’s happening here? Is this a cover up, a place where children who won’t be missed are taken and used as lab rats? It could be true. Something tells her it isn’t. Something about the place… it feels… safe.

That thought puts her on edge; nowhere is safe. Natasha never feels safe. So why does this place radiate that feeling? It’s not right. Even more on edge, Natasha moves swiftly down the hall, trying to find a room that isn’t a bedroom or bathroom. So far, nothing. She moves towards a staircase and heads up.

Or at least, she plans to. The mountain of muscle standing at the top of the stairs hinders her movement forward. Immediately, her body tenses, one foot on the bottom stair, staring up at the shadowed figure with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” A masculine, gritty voice mutters. “… bub.”

Natasha, her body poised to fight at a moment’s notice, cocks her head to the side. “… what the hell is a bub?”

The man leaping down the stairs at her is the predictable part, and she sidesteps him easily, back flipping out into the hall to put some distance between them. The metal claws extending from his clenched fists were not so predictable. Natasha takes them and their extended reach into account when she begins dodging his moves.

She would love to simply knock him out and move along, since combat isn’t really the purpose here. But it looks to be impossible. She attempts a few of the traditional knock out techniques – blows to the head, spine injuries – they don’t seem to be working. After a few minutes of ducking, dodging, and thwarted attempts to beat him back, Natasha begins to believe hitting him is hurting her more than it’s hurting him.

She really doesn’t want to draw her gun in a crowded hall where a kid might enter at any minute, but it’s beginning to look like that’s her only option. The stranger leaps at her again, claws extended, and her foot collides hard with his face, sending him off course. A fancy blue vase shatters on the floor when the man flies into the table that had been holding it. Natasha takes the momentary lull to withdraw her pistol and empty the clip into the man’s chest.

It is not quiet or discrete, but at this point she has realized stealth is no longer an option. Knowing that others like him probably fill the building, she leaves his corpse and races down the hall, looking for any sign of a computer, a laboratory, anything…

She passes a door and suddenly there’s a voice: This way.

The woman pauses, listens for a moment. That didn’t sound like any voice she’d ever heard. Breathing heavily and a little miffed at how strange the mission has become, Natasha glances through the door which had ‘spoken’ to her, sees that it’s not a lab, and moves onward.

You’re going the wrong way.

She is alone, no one is speaking, and she is fucking hearing voices. Natasha tries to remember if her brute of an opponent ever hit her in the head, and for a second wonders if Loki has escaped Asgard and returned to Earth with his mind-controlling stick in toe. She keeps moving, putting space between herself and the creepy voice, turning left and heading towards another staircase. 

Then a figure steps in the way and holy fuck a red beam of light is blasting towards her. She just barely ducks and rolls into an alcove, taking out a new clip and replacing the old one in her gun. The beam is gone, but she’s no idiot; she knows the opponent is simply waiting for her to reappear. She can’t wait him out, because she knows there are others on the way, so she examines her options.

There’s an ornate plate hanging on the wall above her head; she grabs it, lobs it into the hall, and watches the red beam decimate it. She’s already rolling into the hall, guns blazing, aiming to cause injury, not death. For all she knows, these are brainwashed government experiments being forced to fight against their will. For the second time tonight, she thinks of Barton. Her preoccupation with his suffering and the way everything is reminding her of it is beginning to put her in a bad mood.

He stumbles, the beam vanishes, and she leaps to her feet, rushing past him. She takes the big staircase behind him, hoping that its grand position in the house means that it leads somewhere important. She would love to find the info she needs, get home, and take a nice long bath where she can properly brood on something other than the pain her partner is feeling and her inability to make it go away.

What if you can make it go away? I can help you – help you both.

Grimacing, Natasha is almost tempted to scream ‘shut up’ at the ceiling but she keeps her cool and runs up the stairs, turns a corner – and is surrounded by children in pajamas.

Some of them have their fists raised like they’re ready to fight; some are just standing there, blocking her way. The older ones are in front, but some of the younger look to be seven or eight. Natasha’s grip on her gun falters. Footsteps come from behind and she hears them, spinning around and raising her gun again, only to see a familiar face.

“Didn’t work the first time,” The rough looking man says as he grins. “But go ahead – try again.” He extends his claws and stands at the ready. More people are behind him, including one wearing sunglasses who is bleeding from the shoulder. 

Natasha feels her frustration rising because she has failed the mission and because she can already hear Tony’s voice at the briefing: “Ha, you got beaten by children.” But she lowers her hands slowly, kneels to drop the gun to the floor, and then stands back up, arms raised.

A white haired woman with strikingly bright eyes approaches the front, moving to stand beside the guy with claws. “Who are you and why are you here?”

Natasha stays silent. She will never say a word.

“She is Natasha Romanoff; otherwise known as Black Widow, one of the members of the new superhero team, the Avengers.” Heads turn to face this new voice; a bald man in a wheelchair is speaking as he is helped up the stairs by some of his fellows. He is in his night clothes as well; when he reaches the landing, he is helped back into his chair, and then turns his head to face Natasha. “As I hear it, we all owe you our thanks. You and your allies turned back an invading army.”

Natasha gives a stiff nod. Behind her, the children are clamoring, whispers of ‘Avengers’, ‘super heroes’, ‘Tony Stark’ flying around the hall. The chatter draws the attention of the adults; all it takes is a few hard looks, and the kids are headed back to their rooms, still chattering and unlikely to be returning to sleep anytime soon.

This leaves Natasha with the man in the wheelchair, the man with claws, the white haired woman, the guy with sunglasses, a red headed woman, and a man covered in blue fur. She realizes suddenly she should have noticed the man with fur first. The fact that she is not stunned by the sight tells her she needs to stop hanging out with such strange crowds.

“Well, Ms. Romanoff, will you tell us why you’re here? Or should I discover for myself?” She’s not sure what he means, but she feels uncomfortable suddenly. But she won’t say a word.

“Let me ask her and I’ll get her to talk.” The clawed man is speaking, but the bald man glowers at him and he shuts up, still grumbling a little under his breath. 

“Jean, take Scott to the infirmary.” The red head that has been supporting the man with sunglasses nods and walks away with him. “Miss Romanoff, though it may not appear to be so now, I am thoroughly convinced we are not on opposite sides of this. We are not your enemies.”

She smirks, crosses her arms. “I have two murder attempts that suggest otherwise.” The white haired woman bristles; the blue guy crosses his arms. Clawed man is unimpressed.

“You mean the explosion at Stark Mansion, and the attack on that SHIELD base a few days ago.” The bald man, who she assumes is Xavier, sets his chin in his hand and leans his elbow against the arm of his chair. “Neither I nor any of my colleagues are to blame for the attempts on Mr. Stark’s life. But I believe I can help you find the answers.”

“I find it hard to believe that you’ll help someone who snuck into your home and shot two of your men.” Natasha says to him, still trying to formulate a way to escape. 

“To be honest, most of those here with me today have at some time snuck into my home. Some were even more violent than you.” That makes the clawed guy grumble a little bit. The white haired woman smirks. “But I understand your mistrust. We haven’t exactly started this on the right foot.” He extends his hand. “I am Charles Xavier.” She does not shake his hand; he smiles and lowers his arm. “This is Hank McCoy,” He gestures to the furry man, “Ororo,” the white haired woman, “and Logan.” At ‘Logan’, the guy with claws grunts. “I believe it is in best interests of both my people and your Avengers for us to work together on this.”

“Prof. Xavier, the most I know of you is that you performed genetic research for the United States government and your name showed up on a list of people which so far has included children in bad situations, and two people who have tried to kill me and mine.” Her eyes harden. “That does not exactly endear me to you.”

“No, I suppose that does not – though that is hardly the truth of what happened.” He sighs, brushes a hand over his head. “But I think I know of a way to mend this bridge, Miss Romanoff.” Xavier looks back up again, hesitates. Natasha quirks an eyebrow. “What if I told you I happen to know the location of someone you care for, someone being kept from you?”

“I care for a very small group of people, I think I would notice if one of them went missing.” This is beginning to be very annoying.

“And if they didn’t go missing?” He begins. “What if you were told they were already lost to you? That they had been tragically killed?” Natasha feels her heart stop, her eyes widening. “What if they had died – but somehow, had not remained so? And in being so strangely brought back to life, were kept from you and yours by powerful people even Director Fury could not fight?”

Bitter, venomous cold fills her veins and in an instant the gun on the floor is back in her hand, it’s aimed at the professor, and she doesn’t even notice the three bodyguards preparing to take her down, the crash of thunder outside, doesn’t see anything but the enigmatic professor’s distant expression.

“Where is he?” She spits out violently, finger on the trigger. “Where is Coulson!”


	8. Rescue, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with Betty and Tony goes the opposite of well. Steve suffers the after effects.

The arrow hits its mark. That’s no surprise; his arrows always hit the mark.

Clint focuses upon the action, the movements which lead to the release, the mechanical side of the art form. He never misses. The arrow shoots true, splits the heart of the doll-like target, and said target is moved along by Tony’s machine marvel. A new target moves into his line of site, a new arrow touches the bow, and is sent flying.

Thinking of the repetition, he tries not to remember the silence. The silence of his phone, the lack of contact; Natasha does not do ‘mission silence’ with him. She should have called him, texted him by now.

If he allows himself, he’ll dwell, he’ll grow angry and frustrated and damn himself for ever leaving her. He should have stayed, should have told the others Ross was coming and let them handle it. But he’s so used to working alone, to dealing with secrecy that he never once thought to contact anyone. Neither did Natasha, but he’s blaming himself not her. It’s how he works.

Now it’s been hours since he heard from Natasha and he has stopped closing his eyes. Every time he does, he sees nightmarish, twisted visions of the same darkness. He sees her body mangled, her life ended. He sees her dead, and it’s his fault.

He’s lost a lot of people, and he’s been at fault for many a death, for good or ill. He’s done wrong, and he’s failed more than he’s won. But this is the last straw, the end game, and he’s not sure his shoulders could bare the weight. He’s already failed to save Coulson; he couldn’t take having Natasha blood on his hands as well.

==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ever since all the Avengers moved in together, the team has fallen into a sort of pattern. Though it’s been barely a month, they’ve already established a routine. Mornings, they eat together. Afternoons, everyone has different places to be, different schedules to keep, and dinners are usually the same. At least twice a week, they eat dinner together. Once a week, they have movie night. It’s a pretty good schedule.

Except for today. Today, it is different.

Natasha is still on her mission. Clint has not shown his face in hours, though JARVIS says he’s blowing things up downstairs. The other five people in the tower are all in the kitchen.

The person who cooks changes each day. Today, Tony is making scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast. The other four are at the dining table. Bruce is sitting at the far end, across from Betty; beside him is Steve, who sits across from Thor. Laughter is filling the room, and Tony’s jaw clenches.

“Then the great green one bellows in rage and lo and behold-!” Thor pauses for effect, a big grin on his face. “The man of iron comes alive with a bellow of his own! Though much less intimidating and powerful, to be sure!” The four of them laugh, even Betty, who has her hand on Bruce’s shoulder and his leaning against him, covering her mouth with her free hand. Tony is glowering at them from the kitchen.

Steve is beaming, turning to look at Tony. “You remember that, Tony? After your trip to outer space?”

He almost flinches at the memory but long practice at keeping masks over his thoughts makes him smirk. “Yeah, I remember. Couldn’t hear for a week after.” That gets more laughs, though it only makes Tony’s chest constrict further. Suddenly, he curses and snatches his hand away from the stove; the grease from the bacon is popping.

He begins putting plates together, shoving the eggs onto a big platter, setting the bacon and toast on a plate. First he takes the eggs and toast over, setting them before his friends.

“Mhm, French toast,” Betty smiles and nudges Bruce. “Your favorite, if I remember correctly?”

Bruce’s eyes widen and he turns to her. “Yeah, you’re right.” A soft look comes over his face. Tony moves to put the eggs and bacon on the table. “French toast, scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and orange juice.” As he finishes speaking, Tony puts the juice on the table. His ears might be burning, he can’t tell. Luckily, Bruce isn’t looking up. “Like my mom used to make.” Then he sighs. “My government mandated mother.”

“What do you mean?” Steve is allowing Thor to dig into the meal first, waiting patiently while looking at Bruce with concern. The scientist adjusts his glasses in a motion Tony recognizes as nervousness.

“The U.S. government has been interfering in my life since before I can remember.” He admits. Tony moves to the kitchen, turning off the stove top, putting dishes in the sink. His throat is dry. In the corner of his eye, he sees Betty putting an arm around the man’s shoulders. 

“I can’t believe it.” Steve sighs that forlorn sigh that means he’s about to talk about the good ole days. “Back in my day… I could never have imagined the government being so invasive. We were supposed to be the good guys.”

“Well, sorry to break it to you, Cap,” Tony mutters, shoveling eggs onto his plate. “But the government of the old U.S. of A. isn’t the big red, white, and blue hero it would like the public to believe it is. And the wars it wages aren’t always as noble and well intentioned as the ones you fought in during the 40’s.”

A snort comes from Betty. “You’re one to talk, ‘Merchant of Death’. Weren’t you supplying that government three years ago?”

Tony’s throat tightens and his hand stops halfway to his mouth. “Yeah. I did. That’s the past; now, today, I’m not, and that’s what matters.”

Now she’s laughing, and Tony feels flickers of anger burning his gut. “That is very childish logic. You don’t take any responsibility for what you did, what you funded?”

He puts his utensils down with a little more force than he needs to. “What, you don’t think saving the world and almost dying is responsibility enough?”

“What I mean,” Betty spits, a grimace on her face. “Is that, whatever you’re doing now, it doesn’t take back what you did. It doesn’t erase the fact that most of the weapons they used on Bruce were made by you. The tanks, the missiles, the containment methods – they were yours!” Suddenly it is hard to breath and Tony’s head is pounding. “Have you even thought about apologizing to him?”

Bruce is leaning towards Betty, who is halfway up in her chair. “Betty, please –“

But the momentary lull breaks the freeze over Tony’s thoughts, and he stands quickly, his chair flying out from behind him.

“You want to throw accusations, fine!” Fuming, Tony thrusts his arm towards the woman. “How long has the footage of that day in New York been available to the public? That stuff was airing the day of the attack. Hulk was in that footage.” The anger in her face is given way a little, but she’s still standing. “How many enormous green rage monsters are there in the world? You had to know it was him. And here we are, four months later, and the only reason you’re here is because we happened to bump into you.” Everyone’s standing now; Bruce has his hands on Betty’s shoulders, Steve has walked over to Tony’s side and is trying to calm him, but he’s still shouting over him. “And before that? Bruce was traveling the world alone for months, and you never attempted to contact him? With all your military and scientific knowledge?”

Grimacing, she spits, “I tried, damn it, but my father –“

“Your father? You, Betty Ross, who went around General Ross’s back to fund your own college education and study the field you wanted to study, instead of entering the army like he wanted you to?” He’s done his homework, of course; no one enters the tower without Tony knowing everything about them. “You, who took sides against Ross to help Bruce escape? But now, suddenly, Ross is stopping you? What changed, huh? Did you decide he was too dangerous, or did you simply grow bored?”

“You don’t know shit!” Betty is red faced, teeth clenched, trying to move closer to Tony but Bruce is holding her back, trying to calm her; she’s shouting over him, too. “You talk a big game, but you’re just a selfish, entitled little jerk trying to play the martyr for the attention and fame. Does it even bother you that all the agony and pain Bruce endured happened because of you! You enabled that! You’re weapons are what my father used to hurt Hulk, your experimental prototypes, your airplanes and bullets and rockets-!”

The furious conversation is silenced by a growl. Bruce has let Betty go; he’s clutching his chest, stumbling away, until suddenly he turns on his heel and rushes down the hall from them. Both Betty and Tony move to race after, but Steve moves in front of them. He’s got the disappointed face on, and it sends a chill of guilt through Tony.

“I think you’ve both done enough.” Then he’s spinning around, rushing after Bruce, with Thor hot on his tail. Both Betty and Tony stand in the ruins of the morning meal, dumbstruck, until Betty simply turns and leaves through another door. Tony stumbles back, falls into the chair at the end of the table, and rests his head in his hands. Breathing hurts, sweat covers his brow, and he’s choked up on nothing. His eyes dart up to his plate, to the food arranged on the table.

The kitchen is empty, and he made too many eggs.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

This is not where he expected to find Tony at all.

Steve wouldn’t have even looked down here if JARVIS hadn’t pointed the way – and he wouldn’t have been able to get inside if the computer hadn’t opened the door for him. Only Tony or Bruce could go into this part of the house. At first, he was nervous; he didn’t want to invade Tony’s space. JARVIS’s insistence that his presence would be a good thing made him pluck up the courage to enter the elevator.

The room is enormous, and filled with debris. Explosions are echoing through the space, rocking the walls, and fire and smoke are rising to the ceiling. It’s not very much, but it’s noticeable enough for being inside. It is the Hulk’s ‘Green Room’ as Tony calls it; where he can go to let out some rage. Currently, the team benefactor is borrowing it. Hulk himself is surprisingly calm; apparently Thor managed to draw his attention towards the pool on the uppermost level.

Tony is in the suit, floating in the center of the room, using repulsor blasts to tear apart the trash and debris that fills the room. He doesn’t stop when Steve enters the room and approaches; he continues to tear up the blocks of garbage with explosions of light. For a moment, Steve contemplates the thought that the image before him would make a beautiful picture. Then he shakes the artist away and the soldier comes out to play.

“Tony, what are you doing?” Incredulous, Steve crosses his arms and stands a few feet away, watching Tony.

“Letting off some steam, what does it look like?” Tony scoffs. “Hulk’s not the only one who wants to let loose sometimes.” The man continues blasting things apart; the sound is deafening but Steve speaks over it.

He thinks for a moment of what to say, feels the words catch in his throat, but eventually he forces them out. “… do you want to talk about it?”

That makes Tony stop; his head turns, the front of the helmet lifts up, and a stupefied expression meets Steve’s. “I thought you were team leader, not team therapist.”

“I can be both. Not that I’m qualified.” For either position, he thinks darkly. Shrugging, he approaches Tony slowly. “JARVIS told me where to find you.”

“Traitor,” Tony mutters to the room. A moment later, the helmet snaps shut and Tony returns to blowing things up. “Here’s the thing, Cap; I don’t want to talk, I really just want to blow shit up. I don’t need a therapist.”

“How about a friend?” He regrets the words as soon as he says them; Steve’s hopes that the two of them might get along better one have been dwindling by the day. Every apology he attempts to make is thwarted, and every chance he has to talk to Tony turns out to be either befuddling or maddening. He thinks Tony’s doing it on purpose. The genius doesn’t like him very much.

Lost in his thoughts, Steve almost didn’t notice Tony quickly landing, storming over to him, the helmet open again. “Listen up, Cap, ‘cause I’m only going to say this once.” Stunned, Steve backs up a pace, but then holds his ground as Tony begins to speak. “I am not Howard. I am not your buddy, or your friend, and I’m not your replacement bestie here to make you feel better and integrate you into the new world. We can work together, we can save the world together, but we do not go out for a drink and a good time together. We are not friends.”

Steve is relatively sure his heart is hammering inside his throat. He feels hot and sweaty all over and he thinks his hands are trembling. What is he supposed to say to that? What in the world does he say? Tony’s glowering at him with fire in his eyes and in that moment Steve is absolutely sure Howard Stark’s son hates him. Part of that might have to do with the fact that he thought of him as Howard’s son. 

He barely hears the phone on his belt ring; he answers it rigidly, turning on his heel and storming from the room as fast as he can. He doesn’t want to see Tony, doesn’t want to be within a hundred miles of him. He listens to the voice on the phone explain something, hardly hearing, going through the motions of response. He agrees to go out and meet this person at the location sent to the phone. It wouldn’t matter if the location were the pits of Hell: right now, he’d rather be anywhere but here.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Noon has come and gone, and Natasha Romanov is on the front porch of Xavier’s mansion, leaning against a column. Around her, Xavier and his people are gathered, all staring out at the driveway. Natasha notices that Wolverine has placed himself between the group and her; his eyes hardly leave her. He’s a smart one.

The others, much younger and less experienced, have broken into little groups, chatting as they wait. Xavier is at the front, a small smile on his face, his hands supporting his chin. Storm – or Ororo – is by his side. Natasha smirks at her.

“I have a friend you might get along with.” She says. Xavier had briefed her with very basic information about each person’s powers; or at least, those people who were coming on the mission. Storm’s eyes drift to her; she looks uninterested, but an eyebrow quirks. “Norse god of Thunder.”

Wolverine snorts, but says nothing. The kid’s interests are piqued. “A god?” The brown haired one, Kitty, turns towards her. “Is he for real?”

“The lightning is real enough.” Natasha says. 

“He was there, in Manhattan, right?” One of the kids asks.

“Yeah, I saw him on T.V.! He used a building as a lightning rod!”

As the children proceed to gossip about super heroes and alien invasions, Wolverine grunts and approaches Xavier. He lowers his voice and though Natasha can still hear him, she’s pretty sure he doesn’t care that much.

“You sure about this, professor? How do we know the army’s not on their way for us?” His eyes flit back to her as Xavier smiles serenely.

“I know who she called, old friend, and I believe we can trust him. And in fact, I believe that is why Agent Romanov specifically requested his presence.” That is exactly it; and as Natasha sees furls of smoke rising from the drive way, she feels this mission might go just as planned, for once. She hopes he wore the uniform, like she asked.

He stops his bike at the bottom of the stairs, and everyone is quiet, watching him. Natasha and Xavier have similar knowing smirks. His shield is on the back of the bike, covered up, and probably strange looking to anyone who doesn’t know what it is. Steve parks the bike and steps off it, the dark blue pants and red boots of the uniform visible. He’s got a brown jacket on over the top, and the mask is off. He looks like a weirdo, and Xavier’s people are staring at him like he is one. 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Take off the coat, Steve.” He looks sheepishly at her, as if he’d rather not get all the attention, but he listens because he knows she wouldn’t ask unless it was important. The awkward tense feeling in the air vanishes at first sign of that white star and blue background. 

She hears somebody say, “Holy shit, that’s Captain America!” and smirks when she notices it wasn’t one of the kids who said it.

-=-=--=-=-=-=-==-==-=-==-=-=-=-

“Pepper, I think I broke Captain America.”

Sighing, Pepper adjusts the phone against her ear. “Tony, I’m relatively busy. No offence to Steve, but unless he’s suffering life threatening injuries –“

“I may have made him believe that I detest his existence and I thought he was using me as a replacement-Howard.”

“What the hell, Tony??”

“I know, I know, bad Tony, I was pissed and ready to explode and I verbal-exploded at him!”

Pepper feels a headache coming on as she scoffs at him. “Why did you… ‘verbal-explode’ at him?”

“Because of reasons.”

“Tony, if you use internet memes to try and get out of telling me how you really feel, I will hang up on you and let you deal with the fallout of a broken Steve by yourself.” Leaning back in the chair on the hotel patio, Pepper feels a bit smug. He would just deserve that, too. “I hear a certain Norse god has become somewhat attached to him.”

“All right, fine – I’m – I’m – well…” She takes a sip of her iced tea, waits for him to speak, and wonders for the gazillionith time what the hell she ever did to deserve this. “The ‘Science Bros’ club house has been infiltrated by a girl and there are cooties everywhere.”

Yep, that’s a headache pounding at the front of her brain. “Let me get this straight – you just stomped all over poor Steve’s heart because Betty and Bruce have been reunited and you don’t get to monopolize your science buddy anymore?”

“Make her leave, Pepper!”

“No, you childish twat, I’m not kicking Bruce’s girlfriend out because you have issues with possession and control. Which you really need to work on, like, pronto.”

“It’s on my list. So, is there anything I could maybe buy Steve –“

“You could apologize. Like a normal person.” Pepper says this while rolling her eyes. “Emptying one of your many bank accounts trying to make it up to him will not make him feel any less emotionally devastated. You should really go about this in an adult-like manner. Have I mentioned the Norse god best friend yet?”

“Yes, yes you have – are you positive there’s not something he’d like? Something old fashioned, maybe? What’s he like?”

“He’s your teammate; you could consider having a conversation with him sometime that doesn’t involve snarky comments.” Standing, Pepper gathers her computer and paperwork and reenters her hotel room. She’s not going to get any work done with Tony like this. “Ask him what he likes, when you go apologize to him.”

“He likes baseball, right? He’s patriotic, of course he likes baseball. I could buy him a team –“

“Just say sorry, Tony. And mean it.”

“That requires emotions. I’m allergic to those.”

Pepper is half a sarcastic comment away from hanging up on the man. “Why are you so bothered by Betty, anyway? She seemed nice. You’re always trying to hook Rhodey up, what’s different about Bruce?”

“He’s Bruce.” Tony says very helpfully. “And he deserves to be happy withhhhh – with whoever makes him happy.”

The words stick out in her mind, the way they’ve been said ringing all kinds of alarms in her head. “And you don’t think Betty’s that one? Don’t you think he should decide that?”

“… yeah. Yeah, you’re right, sorry. Dickishness, 2, Decency, 0.” She hears him sigh heavily and he sounds awfully forlorn. The last time he was this down, Pepper later learned he’d been hiding the fact he was dying from her.

“Tony, what’s up?” She asks carefully. “You really don’t sound good.”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine, gonna be fine.” He sounds exhausted and the complete opposite of fine. The conversation dwindles, they say goodbye, and hang up the phone. Pepper is shocked, setting her cell by her bed slowly. Since when has a conversation with Tony ever ended so… normally? And since when has Tony honestly admitted he’s in the wrong? 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-

Something’s up.

Natasha hasn’t called in way too long, Steve just stormed out the front door, and he’s got a bad feeling building in his gut that he just can’t shake. Sure, Clint knows that Tony just got into a fight with Bruce’s… friend? Girlfriend? Science buddy? But he doesn’t see how that would lead to Steve angrily storming off. Especially since the storming was less angry, more resigned and irritated. 

Plus, JARVIS told him Steve had gotten a call from Natasha – he’d asked the AI to tell him if Natasha tried to contact anyone – and just after, Steve had left. Clint was never very good at math, but he can add one and one to make two. Steve’s going to Natasha, and Clint is going with.

He’s a little peeved that Natasha didn’t call him; he’s always been her go-to back-up. Why change now? The question lodges itself in his head and he dwells on it all the way to whatever destination Steve is heading to. Clint is a good mile and a half behind, but he’s tracing Steve’s cell phone. Steve is Captain America, sure, and he once busted a prison base and freed hundreds of soldiers all by himself, but he’s not Tasha’s partner. Clint is.

A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispers dark thoughts to him. Are you still her partner? They hadn’t been on a mission together since before Loki. Now they are the Avengers, and they work more as a group of six than as a duo. 

What if…?

He shuts the voice out and focuses on the mission, but that doesn’t make it go away for good. That lingering thought remains, that sliver of doubt, which wonders if perhaps he has been replaced, if perhaps Natasha has seen how far he’s fallen and no longer considers him her equal…

If that were true, it would hurt a hell of a lot. Still, he wouldn’t blame her.

-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Steve feels very out of place.

They are on an airplane, he and Natasha, with these strangers including quite a few young people. He’s very confused, unsure of why it’s just the two of them and these people, where they’re going and why, and why the others don’t know. He’s been loathe to ask just yet, but now that they’re on the plane and somewhat alone, he leans over across the aisle to Natasha.

“Natasha.” It only takes one call to get her attention. “What’s going on?”

She remains silent, nodding towards the front. He gazes forward; there are precisely three teenage heads and one adult staring at him in blatant awe. They all turn forward but one when he looks – but after a moment, someone bumps the kid’s shoulder and he sheepishly turns. 

“You have quite the following.” She’s smirking at him as he shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. 

“What’s going on, Natasha?” It seems strange, calling her that. He’s only called her that a few times. But she doesn’t seem to mind all that much.

“I found Xavier.” She begins. “He’s apparently in charge of this school for runaways – I don’t have all the details yet. In an attempt to earn our trust, he gave me some… possibly vital information and is allowing us to use his team and resources to perform a rescue mission.” She looks up at him, her eyes narrowed and darkened. He waits for her to continue. “He thinks Coulson is alive.”

Steve’s heart about jumps out of his chest. “A – Agent Coulson?” Natasha nods, clenching her fist.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” His thoughts are going every which way, but suddenly, something makes sense to him.

“That’s why you called me.” Her eyes snap back to him. “I was confused, at first, because it seemed odd that you didn’t call Clint instead. But you didn’t want to get his hopes up, just in case… did you?”

She nods. “He and Coulson were… very close. If this goes south… I’d rather him not know.” Steve nods. “Though that was not my only reason. Clint and I aren’t the most inspirational figures.”

Steve’s head turns when he sees something move in the corner of his eye. The teens who’d turned to look at him turn back again. “Oh, I don’t know. I think a few of those young people had their eyes on you.” He smirks at her, and she gives a genuine chuckle.

“Mr. Rogers!” She shakes her head. “I was sure you were incapable of even hinting at the subject of sex without imploding.”

“My times were different, sure.” He shrugs. “But I’m not completely innocent.”

She leans her elbow against the chair in front of her, presses her hand against the side of her head. “Perhaps it isn’t how innocent you are, but how you rank by comparison, to all those around you. To me, to Clint.”

How is this supposed to make him feel? Honored, ashamed? Really, he’s just confused, maybe a little flustered. “That’s not – really – I fought in a war, Agent Romanov. In World War 2.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I killed a lot of people. I don’t really understand how people look at me and see this – this unblemished person, because it’s just completely untrue.”

Her eyes roam his face and he feels a little antsy. “Maybe you’re not unblemished. You just seemed to have come out of it better than any of us. You aren’t falling apart quite as much.” She falls silent, glancing ahead for a moment as if checking something. “Given your situation, I think we’ve all been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it hasn’t. You just keep working through it. The rest of us… I think we all would’ve lost it by now.”

Steve thinks back to the morning, to becoming the target of Tony’s rage, and he wonders. “I hadn’t… huh.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow and waits. “I think you’re right. Maybe some members of the team haven’t been making it through all this as well as the others. I just… I didn’t know them well enough to realize. But this morning, with Tony…” He explains what happened at breakfast, in the training room.

“I’ve seen Tony Stark’s downward spirals.” Natasha begins. “I was undercover at his company for a time, during which he came to believe he was dying.” Steve felt his chest go cold. “He pushed the people he cared about away, made a lot of bad choices. Stark lashed out at you to keep you from seeing him vulnerable. It’s how he works. He’ll get over it.”

Maybe… but Steve still feels terrible. He’s team leader, he should be know when his teammates are hurting and when they need him. He should be able to help, somehow. But he can’t. There’s not a thing he can do… especially not if Tony hates him as much as he seems to.

-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Friend Steve?”

Thor knocks one more time before stepping back with a frown upon his face. He raises his fists but before he can think to smash the door down, a voice echoes in the hall. “Allow me, sir,” JARVIS states, before the door unlocks. Thor smiles and lowers his fist.

“Thank you, kind ghostly voice.” He gives a small bow before stepping into Steve’s room. He feels little guilt in entering without Steve’s permission; he does not think his friend would mind, given how often Steve has been in his own room. It looks very different from the quaint apartment they shared a meal in a while ago. There is little in the room, save a bed, a desk, a bookshelf, and a few personal items. Steve is nowhere to be found. Curious, Thor wanders in, his eyes glancing over the Spartan space.

Something on the desk catches Thor’s eye. He steps towards it, places a hand on the edge. It is a book, with the name Steve Rogers written on the bottom. Thor’s fingers trace the edge in slight hesitation, before he gives into the urge and lifts the cover.

It is a sketch book – Thor’s eyes widen in surprise as he glances over the fine lines, the details. They are superb drawings. He can only assume they are Steve’s, and he is shocked that his friend has had this talent all along and he’s never noticed it. With a small smile, he flips through the pages, taking in the love and care each images has been given.

As he flips through the pages, he notices there is a certain mood in most of the images. They seem… melancholy. In most of them, Steve is present, but not himself; he is a Midgardian creature of some sort, often in a low or unseemly position in the picture. These are dark, lonely drawings and suddenly Thor feels uncomfortable looking upon them – but even more uncomfortable knowing these depressingly drawings were penned by Steve’s hand. 

Then he comes to the last drawing in the book.

For a moment, he is stunned and cannot understand – but then it clicks. It is his face, eyes closed and resting, which Steve has depicted upon the page. It is beautifully wrought, almost as if he is looking upon a mirror. He traces the lines delicately, wide eyes transfixed by the page.

“Friend JARVIS,” He murmurs quietly. “Is Steve still in the tower?”

“I am afraid not, sir.” JARVIS begins. “He left a few hours ago. At the time he seemed somewhat upset. Agent Barton followed him in one of Master Stark’s vehicles. I can locate the vehicle, if you would like?”

For a moment he is quiet. “Please do, and swiftly,” He finally says. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tony’s not sure how long he’s been drinking. He’s not sure of what time it is, or where he is, or… well, anything really. If there’s one constant in his life, its being unsure.

He thinks he blacked out for a little bit, because he’s on his side on the floor and has no idea how he got there. Also, he’s extremely heavy. Through bleary eyes, Tony looks down and sees red and gold. He gives a snort.

Slowly he tries to stand, but between the alcohol and the suit, it’s impossible. Eventually he gives up after rolling onto his back. By the look of the ceiling – or that is, the lack of one – he’s on the roof. Stars are glittering above and the wind is blowing over his face. The sad thing is, this doesn’t even rank in the strangest places he’s woken up.

For a little while, he simply lies there, staring up at the stars, alone. He doesn’t remain alone, though. Eventually he hears footsteps and lets his head fall back, gazing at the upside-down form of Bruce Banner.

First he blinks. Then he gives a groan and mutters, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Bruce doesn’t sound particularly upset. He doesn’t sound particularly anything, actually. He comes to sit beside Tony, his arms on his knees.

“For that thing I really needed to apologize about… thing I dontremmmber.” He grunts and tries to sit up and it is practically impossible, until Bruce helps. Eventually, with a little maneuvering, he’s sitting up and leaning back on his arms next to Bruce. “Um… sorry for… Betty? Yeah, something to do with your girlfriend…”

“We’re not dating, Tony.” Bruce mutters, exasperation coloring his voice. Tony gives a snort.

“Rrrrright.” He goes to pick up his drink then suddenly realizes he doesn’t have one. He frowns. “Cause you two weren’t really cozy this morning.” He grimaces and glances away then he hears a snort.

“Is that what this is?” Bruce is grinning a little bit.

“Is what?”

“This mood you’re in. Are you jealous?”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat I mean that’s ridiculousss.” He shakes his head too hard and sees stares. “Because, clearly, your relationship with me is vastly different and I hold an altogether separate place in your heart.” Tony doesn’t believe the bullshit he’s spouting and he’s trying to make it sound like a hyperbolic joke rather than the sarcastic self-lashing it is, but Bruce nods and smiles.

“Naturally.” 

“I mean I’m just it’s like she’s just a jerk.” He wavers, trying to stand and failing, partially because Bruce caught his arm and pulled him back down. “Like she just walks in here in my house with her cellular biology degree and her Metallica shirt – I mean, Metallica? They’ve been shit since St. Anger and the snare drum thing -“

“You become very talkative when you’re drunk.” Bruce mentions. “I thought perhaps last time was an especially emotional time, but apparently not.”

“– her holier than thou ‘do you know what you’ve done’ spiel? Like I haven’t said the same shit to myself every goddamn night!” Tony plows ahead barely aware that Bruce is listening, just letting his frustration and rage bubble over and spill out. “It pisses me the fuck off to think Ross used my shit – shit I made – against you and Hulk but what the hell am I supposed to do, walk over and say ‘Hey, sorry I sold weapons to the people who kidnapped and tortured you, my bad?’ What the fuck do I say? What the fuck do I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bruce mumbles quietly. Tony hardly hears him over his pounding heartbeat in his ears. “I know you. I know you hate yourself for what happened, it tortures you, I can see it every day. I wish I could stop it.”

“Why?” He turns to look at Bruce and sees the man’s face scrunched in worry. “Why should you care about – about…” He can’t think of how to end it.

“What Betty said wasn’t totally wrong. But she doesn’t know you.”

Tony snorts. “And you do.”

“I’d like to think so. And if not, well…” Bruce shrugs. “I’d like that to change.”

A lump forms in his throat and for the first time, Tony Stark finds he is speechless.


	9. Rescue, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a big risk, and Tony tries to avoid apologies.

Betty has a few moments in her life she is not particularly proud of. Ironically, most of them have to do with Bruce. 

There was the time she called her father, thinking the man might help her help Bruce; what had occurred was certainly the opposite of what she’d hoped. It was that time that taught her not to trust her father; that taught her the military was in no way interested in helping Bruce. They wanted him as an experiment, as a weapon, and nothing else.

She wasn’t very proud of her initial reactions to the Hulk, either. Sure, she’d never really expected to wake up one morning and be forced to deal with an eight-foot tall beast; but as she looks back at how she acted in interactions with him, she wishes she could’ve kept her cool better. She can do it now – she can walk up to Hulk and trust that he’s not as mindless as everyone thinks. She’s still scared, but she can hide it.

And now, she’s more than a little ashamed of her actions that morning. She sits in the room Tony was kind enough to allow her, staring out the window. On the one hand, she’s still pretty sure Tony Stark is a self-centered asshole. On the other… she knows she didn’t attack him because of that.

She’s jealous, plain and simple. She’s seen Tony and Bruce interacting, seen how open and relaxed they are together. Betty has never seen Bruce so calm around anyone before. Usually, he’s still tense, still prepared to run at a moment’s notice, always ready to be betrayed. She knows that is partially her fault, for all her good intentions, she knows she hurt him. 

For years she tried to get him to open up, to trust her, and it never worked. But here is a man who stumbled into Bruce’s life four months ago, and vanished from it just as quickly – and now, all this time later, they are acting as if they’ve known each other for years. She’s passed by their lab and heard Bruce laughing before, joyously and openly. She’s never heard him so happy.

How? How in the world did Tony Stark accomplish in a matter of weeks what Betty couldn’t in years? How did Bruce come to trust him so? And why? She just can’t understand it. She’s been watching Tony, and from what she can see, he’s an insular, distant, and rough edged man, who takes compliments as if they’re barbs and throws barbs as if they’re compliments. He cares for his creations more than people, and responsibility and respect seem to be words he doesn’t know the meanings of.

Yet… Bruce likes him – more than that, he trusts him. That says a lot for his character, because Bruce does not do either easily. She just can’t see it, whatever glimmer of goodness there is that Bruce sees that causes him to gravitate towards the genius. He’s the typical selfish playboy billionaire.

Whatever the reason, Bruce likes him, and Betty knows she screwed up and was cruel to Stark because her heart is aching. Every beat is like a fresh wound, burning in her chest. The man she loves never loved her enough to trust her, laugh with her, share her secrets. Every joking comment earned a quiet chuckle; every inquisitive question received a shrug in response, every serious conversation ended in resentment and frustration. They care about each other, but they aren’t close anymore. 

It hurts a hell of a lot. More than her father betraying her, more than Bruce leaving her, this hurts – because Tony Stark has done what Betty could never do, and in doing so, she knows she’s lost Bruce to him, for good.

-=--===-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-

The plane has landed; it is late night, and Natasha has gathered her motley crew into a circle just outside the plane. They’re about to explain the strategy, but before they can do that, they should probably at least know each other’s names. She’s already been introduced, but Steve hasn’t.

“If I can have your attention,” Her words sound vaguely like a threat, and while most of the adults are unconcerned and already paying attention, the children snap out of their conversations immediately. “Before we move on, I need to debrief you. Each of you has specific abilities which are integral to the success of the mission, and you all need to understand each other’s roles for this to work.”

“Why are we listening to you?” One of the kids, standing near Wolverine, snaps. 

“You’re not.” She smirks. “You’re listening to him.” She nods towards Cap, and sees him fidget a little under the attention. But he puts on his best leader pose and friendly smile, trying to earn both their trust and respect while not realizing he has likely melted many a heart with that puppy-like face. 

“Good evening,” He gives a little wave. “I’m Captain America,” Natasha almost rolls her eyes when she notices Steve stumble over the title. “This is Black Widow. We are members of the Avengers, and this mission is very important to us. Thank you all for helping.”

“If it’s that important, why aren’t the other Avengers here?” The one Xavier called Scott asks. Steve glances at Natasha, who shrugs. She’ll let him decide how much to reveal. He is the leader.

“This mission is very covert, and not all our team members are that… stealthy.” Natasha tries to imagine Thor or Tony on a covert op and has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Laughing would severely lower the intimidation level she’s built up with these kids. “Also… this is a rescue mission. The person being kept here is someone we all thought was already dead. If possible, we’d like to keep the others uninvolved… in case what we thought is true.” The mood sobers after that, and the kids fall silent. 

Scott steps up first. “Scott Summers,” He begins, extending his hand. Steve shakes it firmly. “I’m the team leader,” Wolverine snorts and is ignored. “Also known as Cyclops.” He steps back and introduces the others.

The woman with red hair is Jean; Scott explains that she has psychic abilities, like telekinesis and mind reading. Natasha feels her spine stiffen at that. Then, there’s Wolverine, the nigh unstoppable soldier who heals from most everything and is literally made of metal. He sounds like a short, Canadian version of the Hulk.

There’s Kurt, a young German man who also goes by ‘Nightcrawler’, and demonstrated his ability by teleporting above Steve’s head and holding on to the plane above them, which just above gave the soldier a heart attack. There’s Rogue, which was the only name she offered, a young woman with a dour outlook who Natasha found reminded her of someone. Lastly was Kitty, the girl who could walk through walls.

“Well…” Natasha can hear the shock in Steve’s voice, though she thinks he’s handling it rather well. “Here’s how we’re going about it.” He turns to Jean. “Since you’ve got the mind powers, you’ll stay here on the ship and keep us all connected. That way, we’ll be able to keep in contact.” Jean nods. “Scott, you stay with her, in case somebody comes out here looking.” He steps towards her and gives a nod as well.

“Nightcrawler, Kitty,” He starts. The two kids look to be in awe of the fact that Captain America is giving them orders. “You’ll stay with Natasha. The two of you will help her locate and rescue Agent Coulson.” 

“I’m not on board with that,” Wolverine begins. “You’re sending two kids into an army base with an assassin?”

“It’s risky, but I think it’ll be okay.” Steve smiles. “Because you and Rogue will be our distraction. The two of you will attack the front of the base and draw their attention, while the other three sneak inside.”

“What about you?” Rogue asks. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing much, actually.” He begins sheepishly. Natasha already knows this part of the plan – they’d discussed it on the way – and it is the part which worries her most. But she knows it’s necessary. “Captain America can’t be seen attacking an American base. Which is why…” He steps forward, pulling his glove off, and kneels before Rogue. “I’ll be lending my strength to you.”

Rogue’s eyes go wide and she stares at his arm like it might bite her. “You know what it’ll do to you, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” He says. “But if you don’t feel comfortable, we’ll come up with another way.”

Natasha watches a flurry of emotions pass over the girl’s face, before a wall is built back up and she nods. “I’ll do it. But it’ll leave you really vulnerable.”

Steve nods; Natasha’s eyes settle on his, and she can see that he is dead set on this. She’s pretty sure he’s nervous, but he won’t let anyone know. Most of the people gathered with them look stunned that a man like Captain America would allow a teenager to borrow his powers – to Natasha, it’s no surprise at all. It’s just Steve.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tony is in the kitchen making something for his hangover when she walks into the room. He is only a little ashamed by the fact that, as soon as Betty enters, he simply drops the milk carton, turns around, and walks through the milky mess on the floor towards the exit. Then he hears those two dreadful words.

“Tony, wait!” He cringes, freezing, and then slowly turns around with a slightly aloof look on his face. At least, he hopes it looks aloof. For all he knows, his attempt to look uncaring while hungover could make him look constipated.

Betty seems concerned, an arm half raised, her eyes dancing between Tony and the floor. “Um, do you need help cleaning that up?”

“Nah, it’s um – Dummy’ll get that.” He adds ‘Create cleaning program for Dummy’ to his list, just after ‘Get rid of pounding headache’. He congratulates Betty on merely blinking in response to his odd statement.

“Right – well…” She shrugs, moves around the counter towards him, and he fights the urge to turn and flee. He is relatively sure he knows what’s about to happen. “I wanted to apolo –“

“It’s good, don’t worry about it.” He begins backing away. “No harm done. And uh, same here. Back at you.” He is halfway to turning and running through the door when he sees Bruce enter the kitchen from the other side of the room. Tony freezes mid-turn, face falling. 

Betty looks a little peeved, but to her credit, just sighs. “I mean it, Mr. Stark. I was out of line. You’ve been kind enough to bring me here and let me stay, to reunite me with one of my closest friends, and I repaid you by taking out my worries and stress on you. It was childish of me, and I’m very sorry.”

His heart is pounding and he feels vaguely ill. “Right. Okay.” She is staring expectantly at him. “… me, too. What you said.” In the corner of his eye, he sees the woman’s mouth drop open as he turns and finally makes his escape.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Clint watches from afar as they put their plan in motion.

The base is huge and well-fortified, and if Cap and Tasha weren’t involved, he’d think it was practically impossible to do what they’re attempting. But he heard the plan, and it has merit. 

To be honest, though, that’s not what he’s thinking about. Not even a little bit.

Coulson.

It couldn’t be, could it? He died. Everyone said so. But Clint wasn’t there, he never saw a body. Did they bury an empty casket? Or is this a trap, designed to incriminate or kill a few Avengers? He’s not sure what motive the professor would have for that.

As the team rushes off, and the two who’re staying enter the plane, Clint sneaks out behind them before the close the door. He rushes out into the woods, torn between two choices. Should he shadow Natasha, and help them find Coulson? Or does he stay behind and protect the weakened Captain America?

He has faith in Natasha’s strength, and he should feel confident that, if Coulson’s alive, she’ll get him out. But he has to be there, he has to see with his own two eyes, he has to make sure Coulson is okay. It’s selfish and stupid but he can’t not go in there. Cap is smart, he’ll stay out of the way, Clint rationalizes. Then he’s off, after Natasha.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-

“I don’t get what you see in him.” 

Bruce just gives a small smile as he approaches her. “He’s a very complicated man.” She seems unconvinced, so he just shrugs. “He gave me a state of the art lab for free?” 

Chuckling, she shakes her head, and lifts the bag she’d set on the floor. “I’d planned on saying goodbye, too, but I don’t think he’s particularly interested.” She shrugs. “I suppose this is the only goodbye I need to make.”

His heart clenches a little. “Betty…”

She holds up a hand and he falls quiet. “Don’t. We’ve… it’s been long enough.” She glances away and the unshed tears in her eyes send sparks of pain through his chest. He has to concentrate to keep calm. “I still care about you and I always will, but there’s a rift between us Bruce. Don’t you feel it?”

Stiffly, he nods. “I always kept you at arm’s length.”

He glances down when Betty puts her hand on his. “Don’t blame yourself. I pushed too hard. I always wanted more than you were ready to give, and every time I pushed, you moved further away. The further you moved, the more I pushed.” She sighs forlornly, and he feels it on his skin. “I was terrified you didn’t care; it took me a long time to realize you did, you just didn’t know how to show it.”

“I should have trusted you. If I had… maybe this all would’ve gone better.” Maybe you wouldn’t have been so scared, maybe you wouldn’t have turned to your father, goes unsaid. They both hear it, though. Her eyes meet his, and she takes a step back, their hands still touching.

“I love you.” Her voice is breathy, weak. “But love isn’t enough. There has to be trust. And I’m not sure we ever had that to begin with.” A muffled chuckle escapes her, and one tear falls down her face. “We’ve both hurt each other too much to try trust again.”

“Betty, I never meant to hurt you. I put you in a lot of bad places, bad positions – I forced you to choose between me and everything else, and I hate that that happened. I will always be grateful that you chose me, before.” He lifts his free hand to her face, brushes softly over her skin. “But it’s time you choose for yourself. I don’t want to hold you back.”

The tears are rolling freely down both their faces. “And I don’t want you to be in love with someone who’s afraid of you.” Betty admits. “Find somebody who’s stronger than me – braver than me.” She gives a somber chuckle. “That’s it, isn’t it? He’s not afraid.” 

The come together, arms moving around each other, heads resting on each other’s shoulders. They stand that way, silently, for a long time.

“Betty?” Bruce whispers into her ear, his lips tickling her skin. “There’s… somebody else who wants to say goodbye.” For a long moment, he’s terrified she’ll say no. Then she nods against him, steps back. He grips her hand tighter and leads her down the hall.

They enter the gym, which is large enough and sturdy enough for him and Bruce takes a few steps away. He removes his shirt, throws it to the side, then looks at her one last time, takes in everything about her. When he closes his eyes, the transformation has already begun…

Hulk opens eyes, and sees Betty moving closer, face shining with water. Hulk lifts a hand, trying to be gentle, running one finger over her cheek. “Betty.”

Betty sobs, and Hulk kneels down. Betty scared? Should Hulk go? But when he kneels, Betty throws herself at him, wraps her little arms around his neck. Shocked, Hulk lets out a groan and puts her arms around her, lets her cry. If a few tears escape his eyes, he’ll never tell.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The closer he gets to his destination, the more the air seems to crackle.

It does not bode well. He feels another presence in the air, not quite magic, but more than mortal. Thor has never felt this kind of presence before, and it sets him on edge. He is already antsy because Steve left without warning, and he could be in danger. If so, there is no obstacle which can keep Thor from his friend’s side.

Eventually he finds the vehicle which JARVIS told him of; it is parked on a desolate road a mile or so away from a large mansion. Given that the vehicle is abandoned, Thor assumes the mansion was Clint Barton’s, and thus Steve’s, destination. He sweeps Mjolnir through the air towards the home, and descends towards it.

He finds two strangers are outside awaiting his arrival. He lands a few feet ahead of them, trying to keep calm and patient but finding his ire rising. A bad feeling has settled in his gut and though he cannot tell its origin, he worries for Steve.

There is a bald man in a chair, and next to him, a tall woman that Thor suddenly realizes is the source of the strange energy. He feels a shock flow through him, a sense of power, and finds himself suddenly baffled. In this moment, in her eyes, he knows he has found one who shares his power, his affinity for the storm. Once again, Midgard has surprised him.

“Welcome,” the man speaks, and Thor’s attention is diverted to him. “I assume you are here looking for Agent Romanov and Mister Rogers?”

“The Black Widow – she is here as well?” This bodes ill. Why would the Agent be present here and only inform Steve? For what reason did he meet her here? A growing irritation, born of fear, builds up in his chest. “I must speak to Steve Rogers. Is he still present here?”

“I’m afraid not. But I know where you can find them, mister… Thor, I presume?” 

“You know of me?”

“My name is Charles Xavier, and I was born with the gift of telepathy. I can tap into a person’s mind, hear their thoughts.” Thor has heard of this – he is not fond of the idea, but does not go on the offensive. Xavier does not seem to be threatening him. “Sometimes, when a thought is particularly strong, it overflows and is possible not to hear. Your friend Steve seems to think very highly of you.”

Surprise shocks him, as he hadn’t thought that was where the man was going with his train of thought at all. Then, he feels a great deal of pride and pleasure at the thought that Steve thinks of him. But those thoughts must be brushed aside. “I fear Steve may have need of me – I must go to him.”

Xavier turns to his friend, who nods. The woman raises her hands to the sky, and Thor feels the crackle of electricity in the air before the thunder booms. She rises into the sky, and looks to him, beckoning him to follow. The sky grows dark.

Thor smirks, and lifts Mjolnir.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=--=-=--=-=--

They told him to stay at the ship, where it was safe. Steve has never been very good at following orders. Everyone seems to think of him as the army stick-in-the-mud, but they forget that he went against orders to infiltrate an enemy base and save his best friend. He can bend and break the rules as good as anybody.

Right now, he’s moving closer to the battlefield, trying to keep an eye on Wolverine and Rogue. He’s worried about the girl. Though he knows she’s now as powerful as a super soldier, she doesn’t have his experience. Wolverine has her back, but still, Steve would like to be nearby just in case. He might not have super strength at the moment, but he’s still a soldier. 

It’s odd, being in this body but feeling as weak as he used to. His lungs are burning, his muscles throbbing, and he’s a little dizzy, all just from running from the ship to this location just outside the base. He is completely drained. It’s a little pathetic, feeling this way again; and though he knows this was the best option, he hates being this weak; being reminded that his abilities all ‘came from a lab’, as Tony once said. It’s true. Every good thing about him came from Dr. Erskine’s serum.

In the distance, he can see Wolverine and Rogue have begun the attack. They’re both wearing disguises, which aren’t spectacular but cover their faces. It’ll keep them anonymous at least, as long as they aren’t caught. Given how well the two are faring at the moment, Steve thinks that’s unlikely. 

Right now, a bunch of foot soldiers with ordinary weaponry are trying to take the two down; but the longer they remain, the more likely more drastic measures will be used. Steve is positive this base has to have some big time equipment, otherwise Fury would never have hesitated to storm in and take Coulson back himself. He must’ve theorized that more lives would be lost than won if they tried to force their way into the base… which means it has to be well protected.

Steve is terrified that he’s just sent an untrained kid into a battle zone that could get worse at any moment – and for a minute he appreciates the irony. When he first received the serum, he was practically an untrained kid being thrown into a war zone. He thinks Rogue has a better head on her shoulders than he did at her age. He hopes she’ll be fine, and he stays close, just in case.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Clint has already used half the arrows in his quiver.

Saying the base is well protected is an understatement. He thinks the only reason the two kids are alive is because nothing can touch them – Nightcrawler teleports away, and Kitty goes see-through and the bullets fly through her. Natasha, meanwhile, is fighting off as many as she can, trying to keep them from the kids, and is managing to keep one step ahead of everyone.

Clint, meanwhile, is above them. He’s not in the ducts – an overused movie trope that is totally infeasible – he’s in the rafters, running around the top of military warehouses, leaping rooftop to rooftop, following Natasha. He’s pretty sure, by the way she’s moving, that she knows where she’s going. He stays nearby and discreetly takes out as many as he can, hoping Tasha doesn’t catch sight of an arrow in her line of vision.

There’s a lot of goons in this place, along with security cameras, automated weaponry, and lasers. Lots of lasers. They keep moving through the base, and eventually, he can read Tasha’s movements to determine where she’s headed. There’s a warehouse, smaller than the others that is the most heavily guarded, big steel doors blocking the way. His eyes narrow, and though he’s loathe to leave Natasha and the kids behind, he finds his feet moving anyway. He has to know. He has to.

So he races across rooftops, only vaguely trying to be discrete, until he comes to the roof he’s aiming for. As soon as he lands, turrets rise out of the top, and a second later they are sparking and have arrows embedded in them. He stands, the wind buffeting him, and he scans the roof rapidly, looking for any way inside. He doesn’t see one – so he sets about making one.

With all the chaos outside, the gunshots and explosions, no one notices an extra ‘boom’ that goes off from the roof of the warehouse. It’s not even that loud or big, really. Hawkeye leaps through the hole, landing on the rafters, and begins scurrying through them. There’s tons of computers and boxes of equipment in this place, but he sees no sign of… 

Coulson.

Oh god.

Coulson.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-

Steve was right. Oh boy, was Steve right.

Half an hour into their assault, the human soldiers have been replaced by machines. They are giant, huge purple things, almost like Tony’s suit but too large to be run by a person. Each one is about twenty feet tall, and look vaguely like the picture of the robot Steve saw in Thor’s folder. The one Loki used to destroy a small town. Steve’s brow furrows as he realizes the army didn’t clean up the mess to help; they cleaned it up to study and copy it.

The copies are pretty damn strong, too, and though both Wolverine and Rogue seem to be holding their own, there are a lot of robots. Steve is about to stand and try and distract some of the bots that are advancing on Rogue’s rear, when suddenly a metallic groan echoes from beside him.

Steve’s head snaps around, and his eyes go wide as he realizes he already has the attention of a few of the robots. He stands and begins to back way, and instinctively he removes his shield from his back and goes to wield it. But when he throws it, he feels fiery pain radiate up his arm, and he gives a cry as the shield flies harmlessly into a nearby tree. He can’t throw it – he can barely lift it.

Cursing, Steve glances around for options, as the bots begin stomping forward. One of them is opening its mouth, and from the data he read on Loki’s robot, Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to be fried. He feels like an idiot for throwing the one thing that could protect him, and turns to run. Every movement sends sharp through his whole body, and he feels his breath leave him when he realizes he’s not moving fast enough. He’s not going to be out of the way in time.

He hears the hiss of the beam building and winces, preparing for the worst. When it fires, he’s thrown off the ground and onto his back, but he doesn’t feel fire eating away at his skin. All he feels is the throbbing in his back where he hit the ground, hard.

When he opens his eyes, there’s someone standing between him and the beam, their silloheute lit by the robot’s attack. For a moment, he doesn’t recognize them – but then it clicks.

“Thor!” Shocked, Steve goes to stand and help him, but before he can, Thor returns fire at the robot with some of his lightning. They are utterly destroyed, burnt to a crisp. Which is good, since when Steve attempts to move his leg radiates with atrocious pain and he lets out a cry.

Thor is at his side in an instant. “Steve, are you well?” His hand falls onto Steve’s shoulder, and shakes the man’s whole body. Steve nods, grimacing.

“I – I’ll be fine.” He sighs. “I think I broke my leg, though.” Thor looks surprised, and Steve realizes he needs to explain. Before he gets the chance, more bots are landing around them. Thor is on his feet quickly, raising Mjolnir.

“Rest, friend,” Thor says, putting himself between Steve and the enemy. “I will handle these abominations.”

Before Steve can say a word, Thor is flying into battle, swatting enormous robots with Mjolnir as if they were bugs and the hammer a very mighty bug swatter. They hardly stand a chance against him as one or two blows of the hammer tear them apart. Without having to fight himself, Steve is able to simply watch in awe as Thor turns battle into something majestic and grand. Steve really wishes he had his sketchpad with him.

One of the bots has turned its attention to him again, but before Steve can so much as gasp, Mjolnir flies across the battlefield and slams into the bots head. It falls down dead, and the hammer hits the ground beside it. Steve wonders why Thor didn’t summon it back, then looks to see that he has been knocked to the ground, and is being swarmed by at least thirty of the robots.

Grimacing, Steve pulls himself along the ground, using tree roots as hand holds, until he is beside the hammer. He’s really not sure if this will work, but he has to try. He wraps both hands around the handle, sits up, and pulls his arms back as if he were playing baseball. Mjolnir is somehow lighter than his own shield to him now, and though it’s still heavy, it flies true when he swings it forward. 

“THOR!” He shouts as the hammer bashes through a few bots and is caught by its owner’s raised hand. A crash of lightning sends the bots flying, and Thor is back into the fray. 

Steve feels surreal right now, as if he’s been flying. He remembers what Thor said about the hammer, about how only those worthy of it could lift it. He’d assumed, as he does in most things, that his worth was derived from his abilities as Captain America, from Dr. Erskine’s formula.

But his strength, his powers are still gone. He can barely breathe let alone stand. And yet, he could lift the hammer with no problem at all, powers or no powers. Steve can hardly believe it, but he realizes it must be true – it’s not the powers. It’s him. 

There is no greater comfort in the world to him right now than knowing that he could always lift the hammer, whether as Captain America, or the skinny kid from Brooklyn.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As soon as she sees the big steel door, Natasha turns to Kitty. “You ready?”

The girl, sweat laden and clearly tired, gives a nod. A moment later, she’s rushing through the door. Natasha continues firing at the robots that are surrounding them, trying to find weak points, but it’s doing no good. The armor is too thick. She sees Nightcrawler teleport away from yet another attack and feels helpless.

She was never meant for this kind of fighting, but that doesn’t mean she’ll back down from it. Still, she really wishes she’d invited Stark along. She also can’t believe she actually wishes she’d brought Stark along.

A moment later, Kitty is back, and the door is opening. “I’m better with computers than I thought I was.” The girl grins a little, and then turns to Kurt. “Come on, the door’s open!”

The boy teleports into the room now that he can see it and Natasha runs in after, firing behind her. Once they’re in, she closes the door again, though she’s relatively sure it won’t hold them for long.

They’ve entered what looks like a warehouse for storage, but a second glance reveals more. Computers and scientific equipment fill the place. There are charts and readouts lying around, and at least ten scientists that she can see. This is a lab that someone didn’t want to look like a lab. Natasha takes to knocking the panicking scientists out, which doesn’t take all that long. It’s probably not even that important, but it makes her feel better, and it allows her to ignore the table in the center of the room for a little longer.

But they fall all too easily. Natasha feels her chest tighten, but she forces herself to turn and look.

She lets out the breath she was holding. Kurt and Kitty look to her expectantly. “It’s him,” She whispers. “He’s alive.”

Coulson is practically naked, and tied up to a ton of machinery. He may be alive, but he’s looked better. There are scars running across his skin that weren’t there before, and strange markings on his chest Natasha doesn’t recognize. He looks malnourished and tired, and rage colors Natasha’s face red. She kicks one of the scientists nearby her for good measure.

Then she’s rushing to remove the needles and cords from him quickly, instructing the kids to watch the doors, as she sets her friend free. Her thoughts are flying. What will she tell Clint? How will he react? What has Coulson been through? Will he even be the same person? What if it’s a clone, or if he’s lost his memory? A thousand horrible situations fly through her head, but they are all silenced when a weak, trembling hand takes hold of hers.

“N… Natasha…”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Clint stops breathing when he sees Coulson open his eyes, when he hears his voice whisper his partner’s name. For a brief instant he is positive he is dreaming. He’s had dreams like this before. But in his dreams, Coulson always turns on him, blames him for everything that’s happened. So he thinks this must be real.

Clint grips the railing beneath him as his hands begin to shake, and for the first time he is in real danger of falling. He can hardly stay still. He wants to scream, to cry, to destroy everything, to just go to sleep and forget all of this, the loss, the heartache. He wants to kill the bastards who put those scars on Phil, he wants to blow this place sky high. He wants to disappear.

Never in his life has Clint Barton cried. Never. Tears don’t make pain go away. Yet, here he is, tears pouring down his face, biting his lip, desperate to just scream. Everything hurts. Coulson was gone and now he’s back but that doesn’t change anything. Clint killed his own people, Clint let Coulson die, and he will never be able to look the man in the eyes anymore.

It’s just too bad it took all this for Clint to realize he was in love with him.


	10. Rescue, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson is back, and Clint completely misunderstands the situation. Natasha worries, Tony worries, and a certain professor is beginning to see dark similarities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the x-men, I am drawing inspiration mostly from the X-Men: First Class movie and the X-Men Evolution cartoon. Also, a little from the X-Men trilogy, but not a lot. Enjoy!

Dark red. At first, he’d thought he was looking at blood. But when he reached up, his fingers fell through soft curls. Not blood – hair.

Suddenly he was thrust into a memory, a day which seems so long removed it must’ve been another life. He was at his desk filing the usual paperwork when a group of younger agents, fresh out of college, had come by. It hadn’t been hard to overhear their conversation, as they were hardly discreet, and what he’d heard had been crude at best, downright rude at worst. Though he only caught bits and pieces, he could tell they were assessing the various ‘assets’ of a fellow agent, a woman whom he’d not had the pleasure of meeting just yet. 

Just as he was considering the best way to dock those specific agents pay grade in a legal and paperwork friendly way, they called to him. 

“What’s your preference huh?” One of them asked. “Are you an ass or a breasts man?” The man-child was grinning as if he thought he was witty, leaning close to his desk and nodding towards the far wall. Allowing himself to look up from his paperwork, he followed the younger agent’s gaze, and found the female agent staring right at him.

Her eyes were chilly and distant, but did not look away from his; she merely crossed her arms and waited, staring, and for all the world he could not read her. But she smirked, just a little, when his fist suddenly collided with the younger man’s jaw.

It was only later, while listening to Director Fury rant about proper punishments and procedures, that he answered the boy’s question in his head. It was her hair, sharp red and bouncy which was beyond a doubt most eye catching to him. 

He’s never touched her hair before, but he recognizes the color running over his fingers. A name drifts through his mind and he’s not sure if he’s recalling it from a dream or a memory, or perhaps simply lifting it from his imagination.

“N – Natasha…”

There are hands helping him up, touching his arms and shoulders, and he feels them as if there is a layer of film between his skin and the rest of the world. There’s a fog around his head, and noises are blurred, distant. He’s trying to look at the red-head (Natasha’s?) face and read her lips but it’s all going so fast, and he’s still lagging behind. A thought occurs to him.

I remember Director Fury.

What else? There must be more to him than a boss and a memory of a woman with red hair being disrespected by her colleagues. Surely there is more, such as a name, a history, a life? It’s there, behind the fog, he feels it, but he’s just so tired. He tries to pull the information to mind, to think of it, but it slips from his fingers. Bits and pieces come to him – another red head, but more blond, and… and… brighter? And there’s a man who hates being handed anything, that’s important, for some reason. There’s more, he knows it. He just can’t reach.

They help him stand and keep him upright, moving to the center of the room. Natasha is running around to different computers, doing things he can’t quite follow, and the two kids have hold of him.   
There’s explosions and shouting and someone is trying to break down the door… 

In the midst of trying to sort out everything that’s happening, trying to catalogue and differentiate between sensations and thoughts and words, he feels something. It’s so quick, and such a small feeling, that he almost brushes it away. But then he turns and looks down to his shoulder, and there is the proof that it happened: a little drop of water drifting down his skin, smaller than a rain drop.

He looks up and for a moment his vision swims, but then he could swear he sees a shadowy figure in the rafters. A thought rushes out of the quagmire of his mind.

Of course, that’s where he’d be.

And suddenly, he knows him, and he opens his mouth to say so but nothing comes out. So he tries again, despite how dry his throat his, how cracked his lips are, he tries. “Clint!” It’s raspy and all too quiet, so he tries again. He shouts despite how much it pains him to. “Clint!”

Natasha is in front of him suddenly, hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him, trying to steady him. No, he’s not delusional, he’s not crying out for someone who’s not there, because he’s right there! “Clint!”

But before anymore can be said, they’re all gathering together, hands on each other, and suddenly they are simply somewhere else.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-===-

Clint watches them teleport away from the rafters. For a moment, he remains there, frozen, his grip on the beams so tight his hands have turned deathly pale. Then, he is up and moving, rushing back through the way he came, out of the warehouse and out of the base.

He won’t get there in time, he knows. The others are much closer. It doesn’t really matter to him, though. He’ll get out of the base, and figure it out from there.

As he runs, he hears that heart-wrenching sound, the pained shouts that the agent gave, calling for him. What was he seeing? A memory of Loki finishing him off? Or the day he was taken, and helped destroy the base? Coulson was somewhere else, somewhere far away, and he was begging Clint to come to him. And Clint wasn’t coming, because he wasn’t Clint anymore.

Or maybe he was imagining Clint in Loki’s place, taking his life with a single shot. 

As he races away from the base, not once does Clint consider the idea that Coulson might be more lucid than he imagines; and is perhaps not calling to a Clint Barton in his memory, but to the one right above him.

-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--==-

Tony has been hiding in his workshop for at least an hour when the phone rings.

“Stark,” Director Fury begins. “Do you know where your team is?”

He opens his mouth to say a more cynical and wordy equivalent of the word ‘duh’, when suddenly he realizes he hasn’t really seen any of them in some time. The last person he saw was Bruce, an hour ago, and in an hour a lot of things can change.

“I’ll call you back,” Is all he says, before he hangs up and leaps to his feet, bounding out of the workshop.

JARVIS informs him that, indeed, two thirds of the team is not present in the tower. He then goes on to explain that Natasha Romanov had not sent any word in some time, except for a phone call to Steve Rogers; and that Steve left the night before, followed closely by Clint, followed by Thor. Tony berates the machine for not informing him immediately, and at the same time, wonders what the hell kind of person can live in the same house with five other people and not notice when four go missing?

But Bruce is, apparently, still in the house, and once JARVIS tells him where, he sets off to find him. The AI tries to warn him not to, and Tony says ‘mute’ just as he enters the elevator. If JARVIS is trying to keep Tony from interrupting Bruce’s time with Betty, well, he’ll just have to get over it. Tony has lost almost his entire team in one night and he’s relatively sure it’s his fault because A: it’s always his fault, and B: he was really mean to Steve. Steve left, Clint and Thor went after him (Thor makes sense, Clint… not so much?) and apparently Tony is now going to be the sole reason why the Avengers initiative falls apart.

Except for Bruce, apparently, who Tony feels is only hanging around because Tony gave him his girlfriend back. Still, he’s staying, which is more than Tony can say for most everyone that’s ever entered his life. He exits the elevator and rushes towards the gym, wondering for a brief moment why Bruce and Betty are in the gym, when he slides to a halt and his mouth falls open.

Hulk is in the center of the room, sitting on the floor, his shoulders hunched and his head down. Tony stares incredulously for a moment, before carefully approaching him. 

He doesn’t seem to notice Tony just yet, so Tony stays a little out of reach in case Hulk’s jumpy and freaks out on him. But when he comes around the side of him, the Hulk’s head lifts just a bit and his eyes meet Tony’s. He doesn’t flip out. He just stares, then gives a groan and lowers his head.

“Hey, big guy… is something up?” Usually Hulk only comes around when Bruce’s life or someone else’s is in danger – though, to be honest, thus far it’s been if Bruce’s life or Tony’s has been in danger. Tony feels a rush of some unnamable feeling and attempts a smile. “Everything all right?”

Hulk grunts, still looking for all the world as if Ross had shown up and kicked his puppy. Tony had not expected sadness to manifest itself in the big guy in such a dopey, adorable way. He was expecting more smashing and yelling.

“Well, big guy, we’ve got a problem.” Hulk looks up, and Tony is about a foot away from him, easily within arm’s reach. Not a lot of people will stand within arm’s reach of the Hulk, which is why Tony does it. He’s not sure if Hulk realizes or understands, but it’s a show of trust either way. “The rest of the team has run off, and I’m not sure what they’re run into. We gotta find them pronto.”

Hulk’s head turns a little bit and Tony resists the urge to make an obscenely cute noise at the surprisingly endearing look. “Hulk go back now?”

It takes a minute for Tony to understand the question and think about it. Honestly, it’s not like he needs Bruce to locate the team. JARVIS already has the location of the car Clint used. He’s really just looking for company. And maybe some muscle, if their team really is in trouble. Tony looks up into the Hulk’s large, bright green eyes and smiles.

“Not unless you want to, big guy,” Tony reaches up slowly and pats him on the arm, giving him ample time to move away or swat him across the room. Hulk quirks an eyebrow at him and Tony almost laughs at how even confusion looks adorable on his face. (Laughing at the Hulk is a horrible idea.) Or maybe it’s not that the Hulk is adorable so much as there’s something weird about Tony that his stone-cold heart is apparently melted by enormous green rage monsters. 

Hulk doesn’t seem to believe him; his eyes are narrowed, and suddenly he puts his hands on the ground on either side of Tony and leans down towards him. Startled, Tony almost jumps back but just barely stops himself. He’s not afraid, just surprised, and he doesn’t want Hulk to think he’s scared because that would simply be false and would piss the guy off anyway. So he lets Hulk move into his personal space; then, Tony’s face scrunches in confusion when he hears the guy sniffing him.

“Okay, uh… is this your way of saying you like me? Because most people just say, ‘Hey, I like you’, or they keep quiet about it, lock it up inside the cockles of their hearts, and pretend they feel nothing but contempt for life so that no one will mistakenly think of them as a human being.” Hulk’s still sniffing. Tony has the strangest urge to pat him on the head. He’s close enough, he could do it.

Then Hulk leans away and stares down at Tony in a manner that Tony really cannot interpret, because he’s shit at understanding the thoughts and feelings of ordinary people, let alone a guy like Hulk. Then, after a moment, he realizes that Hulk’s waiting for him. Grinning, Tony gestures to the door.

“Shall we?”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Steve is sore head to toe when he finally comes to; with a groan, he begins sitting up and opens his eyes.

He’s in a small, cramped room with beds and a few pieces of medical equipment shoddily thrown together; from the way the room is shaking, he guesses he’s still on Prof. Xavier’s plane, in a small side room for the injured. Eyes lidded, he glances around the room slowly, until his gaze falls upon its only other occupant.

“Hello,” Agent Coulson mutters, his eyes half closed, laying down in the bed and looking like he’d been to hell and back. The moment is surreal. Yes, this is the outcome they’d been hoping for, yes they’d been trying to rescue a dead man, but seeing the reality of it is stunning. Suddenly Steve remembers the blood stained wall, Tony’s lifeless eyes, and the blood, smeared across his mint cards, his own face tinged red and staring up at him. Steve feels himself choking up.

“Hey,” He manages to mumble, before plopping back down against the pillow behind him. He’s not getting up anytime soon. But that’s okay, because they did it, and Coulson is alive, and it is a huge relief, a weight off his shoulders to know that something has gone right, for once.

It is knowing that which allows Steve to slip back into a peaceful slumber.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

His quiver is empty, as is his stomach, and his heart.

Clint snorts. He’s way too tired to be sounding so poetic. Least, now he knows he has a fall back for if the secret agent thing falls through. Clint Barton – American poet. He knows his way with words; he could probably pull it off. A little rhyming here, a little metaphor there. Can’t be hard.

Lifting a hand, Clint rubs the sweat off his face. He could really use a drink. Not because he’s thirsty, though he is really, really thirsty, but because he craves the comfort alcohol provides. Forgetful oblivion. The man snorts, his eyes falling to the ground. Damn, he’s turning into Stark.

He is at least two miles from the army base now, wandering on a desert road which manages to be hot despite the fact the sun has been down for hours. Hungry, sore to the bone, and empty in a way that nothing can fill, Clint meanders aimlessly down the nameless road with no destination in mind. He moves for the sake of moving, and to put more distance between himself and… and what is behind him.

No amount of distance will be enough, however. No matter how much he walks, it keeps dogging him, following just behind, whispering his faults and failures in his ears. Traitor. Murderer. He sees their faces, the men he killed, he sees the KIA stamp on Coulson’s file. It will never go away.

In the distance, furls of smoke rise up behind a nondescript black car. Clint slows to a halt, eyes fixed on it. He already knows what it is. It slides to a halt beside him, dust rising up to his knees. The window rolls down.

“And where are you heading off to at this hour, agent?” Director Fury asks. Clint can’t meet his eye.

“Anywhere but here… I guess.” He’s told Fury that before, a long time ago. Seems like a whole different life, now.

There is quiet, until Clint finally lifts his gaze, sees Fury staring him down with something that comes close to understanding, but never could be mistaken for pity. He nods at the passenger seat, and Clint gives a nod before he crosses in front of the car and gets in.

-=-=-=--==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-

He hadn’t really thought beforehand how he’d get Hulk to wherever it was they were going. He didn’t exactly have a Hulk sized vehicle handy. Eventually Tony remembered that SHIELD had left one of their aircrafts for him, just in case, so he led the big guy up to the air pad and they took off… after a little arguing. Hulk wasn’t very fond of enclosed spaces.

Tony could hardly blame the guy. Small spaces hadn’t exactly been comfortable for him, over the years. He’d been thinking a lot about the Hulk recently, about what he’d been through – well, about Bruce, too, but those thoughts were much more painful and complicated and he avoided thinking about thinking about Bruce. 

Tony glances back from the pilot’s seat; Hulk is facing away from him, looking at the exit as if he’s sure it might disappear if he doesn’t keep an eye on it. Every so often, he gives off a guttural noise that is half growl, half groan. Tony’s rather certain he’s attempting to intimidate the door into not betraying him, or something.

Turning back to the sky, something tightens in Tony’s chest and his face goes blank. So, he’s been thinking about the Hulk. He’s gone over all the old paperwork, the definitive sightings, the events which led to his creation. What he sees are lists detailing casualties, of supplies used, of ammunition spent and arms lost. He sees damage reports and repression techniques, battle strategies and containment plans. 

Tony pointedly ignores the sharp bursts of pain which erupt in his chest every time he sees the Stark logo on those pieces of paper.

He’d known of the Hulk, theoretically, before this all began. Before Afghanistan. Back then, Hulk had been an illusory target like all the others – one of “them”, which had to be taken down by the USA. And if he had to be taken down, then shouldn’t he be taken down by the best? He’d devoted hours to reading over the curious event, the birth of the creature. He’d been fascinated with Hulk the way a boy with a magnifying glass is fascinated by an ant. And Tony had had plenty of magnifying glasses.

After Afghanistan, after Iron Man, after everything changed… Tony came home and went through everything, all the old deals and paperwork, trying to pinpoint problems and things that might be rectified. He couldn’t fix everything – hell, he couldn’t fix most of it – but he could pay for repairs, for hospital bills, create trust funds in victim’s names. He did what he could.

Then he came across that thick file labeled Banner, Bruce – Hulk. 

Ross had been busy in his absence, during the months Tony had been trying to find his footing. Hulk had shown up across the world, across the country, and had been fighting tooth and nail the whole way. Before then, Tony had simply stopped making weapons. After, he began actively working to take the most dangerous of his creations back from the U.S. government. It hadn’t been easy, and it hadn’t always worked. It was too late for Banner, anyway.

He’d gone back and looked over the original data, the effects of the experiment, what happened. Bile rose in his throat, to think back on what he’d thought originally, what he’d approved. How callous he’d been, seeing only the numbers, the data. He’d never tried looking at the man himself.

Not long after, he sought Ross out. Tried to make deals, to get him to lay off of Banner, to make him give it up entirely. He hinted at the Avengers initiative, that the Hulk might do some good on a team, and Ross had spat in his face. Tony tried to mostly forget all the horrid things he’d said, but he could remember the way he looked, red face scrunched up and wrinkled and spittle flying, eyes narrowed and angry. It was like he’d gone through his own transformation. 

The Hulk was only a menace, only a monster, and nothing else. He’d never be on any team; that was the gist of what Ross had said. He’d left Tony stunned in the bar that day, holding tight to the back of the chair he was standing in front of, lunch rising up his throat. 

He’d made the monster. He’d created the weapons which struck first, necessitating Hulk striking back. He’d done it. And now, Dr. Bruce Banner would pay for it, the rest of his life. For a while, he’d attempted to find the doctor himself, before Fury had stepped in, insisted SHIELD had a handle on it, and told him to move on. He gave up on finding him, but he never moved on. 

Hulk, Bruce Banner, they were just words, part of a business deal. He’d signed the dotted line and sealed their fates and then gone on to drink and dance and have sex while Bruce Banner ran for his life from the army and Stark Industries. It was remembering that horrid mistake which made Tony cross the helicarrier floor and shake Bruce’s hand. It was knowing what he’d done that made Tony do his best to make up for it now, to treat the man like a human being, not a number, not an abstract figure in a business deal who needs to be accounted for. 

From day one, Tony had not treaded carefully around the doctor, he had not felt fear – not because he did not think Bruce or the Hulk would hurt him: but because, if they did, he would fully and completely deserve it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-===-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Clint’s not answering his phone. Natasha feels something cold crawl up her spine and she begins to curse herself for underestimating him. Standing, she approaches Logan, who’s in the front of the plane.

“Wolverine,” She starts, business-like. “Has anyone been on this plane other than us?” He lifts his head, sniffs the air, and shrugs. 

“Not in here.”

“Is there somewhere someone could hide in this plane? Someplace out of the way?” Natasha directs this to the general group. Wolverine looks thoughtful for a moment – a strange look on him, to be sure – before he approaches the back. Natasha lets him go, feeling stiffness settle into her bones. There’s another phone call she needs to make.

Pulling out her phone, she sees she’s missed five calls: one from Clint; four from Pepper. A smile briefly appears on Natasha’s face, before vanishing. She’d rather call the woman when she has a chance to be alone, but she’s not sure when that’ll be next. So she puts the phone to her ear, approaches a distant corner so she’ll have as much privacy as possible, and waits for Pepper to answer the phone. She’s preparing herself for the verbal onslaught of worry and distraught anger which Pepper is sure to greet her with, when Wolverine enters the room again.

He nods, and that’s all he needs to convey. Natasha’s gaze hardens, but she refuses to let her own worries and anger color her voice when her girlfriend answers the phone.

And if, despite all the pain, exhaustion, and fear, Natasha feels a brief spike of joy at the thought of Pepper as hers, it only shows in an illusory, quick smile.

-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-

Hulk waits.

No one has attacked, but Hulk waits. They always attack. He sits between door and Tony, so he can smash before anyone gets to him. Tony not in his suit, even punier than usual. No one will get him, though.

Hulk has protected before. Protected puny Bruce, and Betty. They don’t like him much. Bruce always trying to lock him away, Betty always scared. Hulk never protect someone who like him. Makes him… want to protect more. Makes him angry… angry at who would want to hurt Tony. Makes him…

Confusing. Hulk not have names for things. First time feeling things he can’t name. Because of Tony. Thinking more, smashing less. Before, always let out to save Bruce, or Betty, to fight and smash. Now… just sit in plane, think. 

Bruce’s mind is there, floating. Hulk is larger than it, surrounds it, but a fog is between Hulk and Bruce. Bits and pieces escape, float out, but not all. Words, meanings, thoughts, feelings… muddled and blended, they soak into Hulk, without Hulk always understanding.

But understand Tony need Hulk. Want Hulk, not Bruce. No one want that before.

Plane shakes and Hulk grunts, lifts head. Need to smash? But then Tony walk up, touch Hulk’s arm and mouth moves up in funny shape. Word comes to Hulk. Smile.

“It’s okay, big guy, we’re here.” The smile fades a little. “Well, I hope it’s okay. We’ll find out in a minute, huh?” Tony look… worried. Again, something comes from within Hulk, from Bruce: make him feel better, lessen his worry.

Hulk makes his lips go upward too, tries to smile. But smile wavers when Tony does not look less worried. Tony’s face looks like Bruce when Bruce wakes up naked somewhere he doesn’t know. (Those times make Hulk laugh. Hulk like taking Bruce strange places. Pay back for keeping him inside, keeping him from seeing places.)

“Right… well, let’s hop to it.” Back door opens, Tony goes forward. Grunting, Hulk puts hand in front of him. Stands and walks out first, keeping arm out, keeping Tony behind. Hulk looks around, sniffs the air, tries to find anything that might try hurt Hulk or Tony. Nothing. With a snort, drops arm, lets Tony out of plane.

“You’re kinda protective aren’t you?” Tony’s voice sound funny. Hulk look at him – Tony looking at Hulk, hands holding top of Tony’s jacket, eyes thin. “How sweet. You’re like a big, chivalrous teddy bear. Don’t tell Bruce I said that.”

Hulk just grunts. Hulk don’t care what Bruce knows. Hulk don’t care about Bruce. Bruce is stupid, puny, scared like everyone else, keep him locked up in the darkness inside, keep things away from him, things like Tony.

Big house in front of them, Tony starts towards it. Hulk stays close, just behind him, ready to smash. Doors open, Hulk hunches down, growls, but Tony holds up hand.

“So Steve and the others ditched us to go to the Muppets?” Tony clicks tongue and shakes head. “Could’ve at least invited us. Hulk might even identify with furry blue people.”

Furry blue man looks angry. Hulk growls louder, hovering above Tony, his fists clenched. Furry blue growls back, and Hulk about to smash when bald man comes out of house.

“Now, everyone, let’s not start off on the wrong foot.” Holds up hand, smiles at Tony. “Mr. Stark, would you care to come in?”

“I would care to know where you’ve stashed my super soldier, my ninja spies, and my Norse god, before we play nice and drink tea with you and Gonzo here.” Furry blue growls again.

“I’ve just about had it with your brand of comedy.” Furry blue threatening Tony? No one threaten Tony!

Hulk leaps over Tony and lands on stairs in front of Blue, teeth clenched, gets in Blue’s face. “No one threaten Tony!” Blue just growls back. 

“Whoa, whoa, buddy!” Tony runs up stairs, puts hand on arm. “It’s cool, we’re fine. No smashing required.” 

“Perhaps you’d care to tell your monster to heel.” Blue snarls. Hulk wants to grip his head and squeeze until it pops.

“He’s not my ‘monster’ and he’s not a trained pet.” Tony steps in front of Hulk. “But hey, I’m the one who started this. I’m sorry about the blue jokes, I get it, sore spot. I won’t joke anymore, and you won’t growl anymore, and Hulk won’t stain the walls with you. Deal?”

“Hank, perhaps you should return to the lab?” Bald man says. Blue turns to Bald man with wide eyes.

“But, Professor –“

“I will be fine. Mr. Stark and Hulk mean us no harm – they are simply here for their friends, and for answers. I can provide both.” Blue man doesn’t seem to want to, but with one last growl, goes back in. Bald man turns to Tony. “Perhaps for the sake of my interior decorating, we will hold this conversation in the garden?”

Tony and Bald man move side by side, down path by house. Hulk walks behind. Does not think Bald man will hurt Tony – Bald man seems… okay. So far. But Hulk ready if change mind.

“First and foremost, your friends are currently on a mission with some of my students, though I’ve recently received word the mission has been successfully completed and they are on their way home. They should be here within the hour.” Bald man talks with lots of words and long sentences. “Secondly, I assume that you, like your friend Agent Romanov, are here about Division X.”

“And you must be our mysterious Prof. Xavier. Care to tell me why you vanished almost forty years ago?” Tony using lots of words too. So long winded. Hulk yawns.

“It is quite a long story. Some of it, you may have trouble believing.”

“I live with a man who fought in World War 2 and the God of Thunder.”

“True enough.”

So boring! Hulk huff and turn and walk away, into garden. Tony is nearby, and will be okay. Hulk close enough to smash if anything happens. So, Hulk plop down on grass, lay back, look up. Long time since Hulk could just sit, smell grass, and look at sky. 

-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It is nigh impossible for Charles Xavier to come into contact with anyone, without at least briefly being drawn into their mind. 

He tries to avoid it – one, it is intrusive and impolite, and he would rather not anger or hurt anyone. Two, he really has no interest in knowing the simplest and most mundane of any or everyone’s thoughts besides. But most people are not used to closing their minds off to others; sometimes things slip through.

Usually, when he first meets someone, he can sense three distinct things: how their mind is built, how their thoughts and emotions function; what mood they are currently in; and, if they happen to be focusing upon them, he can feel their most troubling and darkest thoughts.

When Prof. Charles Xavier first sees Tony Stark striding across the yard towards the mansion, and first brushes across his mind, he hears one thing, one powerful thought that hits him so hard its breathtaking.

Steve, please don’t hate me.

Charles had met many powerful minds in his life, but he’d met few who were so overwhelming and also so intricately detailed. From what Charles can feel at the edges of Tony’s consciousness, the man’s mind is maze-like; a constant stream of numbers and equations, with multiple strains of thought occurring at once, and a presence which encompasses a room. Hulk, by comparison, whom one would think would be the more daunting mind, was a sedate rumble, a quiet thrumming of rage beneath a layer of slowly evolving consciousness. To be honest, Charles found Tony to be the more difficult mind to reach.

The man meets his eyes and Charles doesn’t need to read minds to see what a weight there is there. He can sense pure exhaustion of mind and body, irritation bubbling beneath the surface, concern hinging on desperation, and above all, a constant stream of self-flagellation. Charles can’t help but let his eyes go wide. This is not at all what he’d expected from meeting the great Tony Stark.

Immediately it becomes clear the man is much more than his tabloid reputation and arrogant persona, which Charles recognizes quite quickly, is a ruse. Watching him banter with Beast and attempt to goad the both of them, he sees the tell-tale signs of a defense mechanism: of someone so used to be abandoned and rejected, that he makes sure to push others away first, before they can do so to him.

Charles is a naturally empathetic person, but in this case, he is especially so. He imagines that he and Tony would have much in common, if they came out and said it; childhoods spent with distant parents in large, cold rooms, without comfort or love. But, in Charles’ case, he found Raven, and later his mutant family, and despite how it all turns out, he thinks of those years of his life as some of the best, as the foundation of who he is today. Tony never had that… at least, not until recently.

He’s been worried, this whole time. Charles knows that his… old friend’s organization is involved in all this. The government, too, most certainly, though which branches or groups is not known to him yet. And, of course, the Avengers, that until now Charles was not sure whether or not to trust.

But now, feeling the waves of worry rolling off of Tony Stark, sensing the depths to which Tony cares for his team, Charles feels comforted. He feels… a kindred spirit. Someone who grew up in similar circumstances, who never knew what a family was until an odd, rag tag group of strangers became one to him. It is practically the same story.

He can only hope Tony’s family does not fall apart as tragically as Charles’ had.


	11. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue mission is finally over, and the team gets some answers.

In the shadows, just out of reach, he watches.

Some might think it odd for him to take guard duty when as leader he needn’t do such trivial tasks. But there is no one else who could do it unnoticed, no one else he would trust to do it. This is his burden.

He stays in the shadows surrounding the mansion, his eyes trained on Xavier and his guests. He stays downwind. He knows he can’t stay as long as he would usually – the presence of the Hulk puts him in constant danger of discovery – but he can’t manage to pull himself away just yet.

For a moment, his eyes linger over the young genius, taking in his haggard form, his slumped shoulders. But then his gaze moves on, to the older man in the wheelchair, and his eyes soften, if only for a moment.

He is risking everything by being here. He could have come tomorrow, or the day after. It needn’t been today. Yet, no logical argument can pull him from this secluded spot in the trees; it’s been so long since there were no walls, no windows, between them. Between him and Xavier.

He hears chuckling, mild laughter, and he knows the sound: he hears it in his dreams, almost every night. On other nights, he hears the screams of the very same man, a sound which has him awakening with a start, trembling and sweaty, every time. Scoffing, he pushes all his solemn thoughts aside, gaze hardening, turning to look at Xavier one last time.

Then, his gaze moves back to the boy, the genius, and he feels his resolve strengthens. It must be done. Xavier would never understand or approve, but there is no other way. He simply can’t risk it.

Tony Stark must be destroyed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-

Tony doesn’t like the look on this guy’s face.

It’s knowing, and he hates that – that look of someone staring right at you and seeing something you don’t realize is there, like you’ve got something on your face and that person is laughing at you but not bothering to say anything about it. Or, they expect you should’ve noticed it, and since you haven’t, leave you to your misery. It’s a look he’s seen on Pepper, Rhodey, Director Fury – people who’ve looked at him, shaken their heads and sighed, and stormed away. Eventually, they come back. Eventually.

This guy isn’t doing any of the sighing or head shaking, but the look is still there, the one that says “I know what you’re thinking and it’s dumb”. Tony’s a little shaken by the fact that this stranger he’s never met can read him as easily as his friends (and Director Fury), and it shows in how he’s a little more sarcastic and rough edged than usual.

He’s been told everything by this guy, and he’s torn between being confused and pissed off. His first thought is to walk up to Fury and punch him in the face. Shortly thereafter, the Professor insists that Fury did everything in his power to protect Coulson, and only when he realized there’d be no way to get him back that wasn’t illegal did he decide not to tell the team. In order to protect them, of course, since he knew they’d go gallivanting off on a rescue mission as soon as they knew. It is that chain of events which first makes him suspect. 

“Okay, so if this whole thing is about super powers and super people and all that, and that list was a list of super people,” Tony begins as they come to a halt in the center of a patio in the backyard. “Then, that means you’ve got a super power. And I am almost completely certain it has to be –“

Yes.

“Holy shit, okay, wow, yup, I was right.” Tony feels his knees go weak and he stumbles backwards until he collapses on a bench. “I love being right. Which is all the time, of course, I am usually very good with – holy shit.”

Prof. Xavier chuckles, a hand coming up to his chin. “That would be the appropriate sentiment, I believe. For one in your position.”

“Holy shit.” Tony’s standing again, pacing and trying to make sense of this. How would it work? How would it be accomplished? He’s running numbers and equations through his head for at least half a minute before he hears that voice again.

We do have some research on the subject, if you’d like to not start from scratch.

“Okay, warn a guy before you do that.” Tony is trying to revert to thinking about it scientifically so he won’t simply focus on the holy shit aspect of what is going on. And if he doesn’t think about it scientifically, he’s pretty sure those two words are all that’s going to come out of his mouth for the foreseeable future. “So… are all of you able to do that?”

“No, telepathy is quite the rare gift.” The professor puts his hands back in his lap and he moves over towards Tony. “There is only one other at the school who shares this ability. For the most part, all of us have unique and varied mutations.”

Wait, okay, then that means – but what about – then it’d have to – but how to account for -? His head is a flurry of thought and for a moment he ponders how in the world the Professor can handle his mind, since he hardly can most days.

“It’s a struggle, I assure you. You have a very powerful presence, Mr. Stark, though I’m sure you knew that.” Xavier gives a smile that is somewhat playful, but resigned as well. 

“Okay, mutations. I’ll buy it. But what does it have to do with the government and Division X?”

“That, my friend,” Xavier begins. “Is a very long story.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When he wakes, the first thing Bruce hears is laughter. He’s groggy, and his mind takes a while to catch up, but eventually he realizes he can hear children nearby, whispering and laughing.

“Dude, how does that big guy turn into such a little guy?”

“I dunno, the same way an idiot like you can turn into a bunch of idiots like you?”

“Hey, shut up!”

“You guys shut up! He’s waking up!”

“D’you think he’s a mutant?”

“No way, he’s that guy from the TV. The Avengers dude.”

“Should we get a teacher or something?”

“Professor, there’s a naked guy in the rose garden!”

Bruce feels a headache coming on and only keeps himself from cursing because he knows little ears are listening. His knees come up reflexively, though it hurts a hell of a lot since he’s sore all over – he hears gasps and more voices as he sits up, rubbing his head.

When he opens his eyes to the glaring light of the sun, he sees a line of children giggling at him; then, they part down the middle as an older, bald man approaches, followed by… Tony.

“I hold you responsible for this.” Bruce mumbles, rubbing his head. “You owe me pants. And a psychiatrist. And psychiatrists for all these poor children.”

Tony’s not listening, of course. As the bald man sends the children away and they scurry off, Tony rushes over and puts an arm around Bruce’s shoulder, helping him up.

“Bruce, we’ve found Hogwarts!”

After all this time with the man, Bruce has learned not to ask questions. It is better to just go with it. Rolling his eyes, Bruce mumbles, “Really?”

“Yes. And the guy behind us is Dumbledore, I think. I’m still not sure if we can trust him, and until then, I’m torn between deciding if he’s Dumbledore or Voldemort.”

“That’s a really big difference.”

“Yeah, I know, but the facts could go either way. He seems wise, old, fatherly, Dumbledore-like. But on the other hand, look at his hair.”

“He doesn’t have any, Tony.”

“Exactly.”

“Good morning, Dr. Banner.” Dumbledore-Voldemort says, smiling. “I’m Professor Charles Xavier, and you are at my school for the gifted.”

Bruce is too busy gaping at the man he spent most of his teenage years idolizing to really listen to Tony jabber on. “Don’t mind him, he’s having to reconcile meeting his teen crush with the fact that he’s naked. Also probably trying to decide if the being naked part is a good or bad thing. Now, if it were me meeting my hero naked –“

“Tony,” Bruce grumbles threateningly, only a trace of Hulk’s voice making it through. “Keep talking and I’m stealing your pants.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “He’s definitely Dumbledore.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Natasha sees the SHIELD copter as they land at the mansion, and knows immediately that it’s not actually SHIELD because there is only one copter and the mansion isn’t surrounded. There’s only one other it could be – Tony, likely with Bruce, having finally caught on to the mass exodus of the tower. 

Tony is the person whose reaction she is really nervous about, second only to Clint. Tony’s known Coulson for a year or two now, and in that time, they had become surprisingly close. Even if they weren’t the best of friends, Natasha knows just how well Tony takes death. That is, he doesn’t take it well at all.

Realizing that Coulson isn’t dead might not make him feel all better, either. Knowing him the way she does, she imagines he’ll shut down, run away to some secluded location and hide for a week, return from said seclusion with a miraculous discovery or invention, and proceed to throw his sarcastic wit about like a shield to keep anyone from asking after him. The fact that they aren’t at home, at a place where Tony can hide, concerns her. 

But she is glad to finally be able to get off the god-awful plane. There are too many people in too small a space for her. She’d be the first person off if it didn’t mean leaving Coulson to someone else’s care. Given that Steve is too weak to help, and Thor is… Thor, Natasha doesn’t trust anyone else.

So that’s where she is when the plane lands: standing by Coulson, shoulder to shoulder, an arm around his back, helping him stand. She’s holding almost all of his weight. He’s shivering in her arms, lidded eyes glued to the ground, to making sure he places his feet in the right places. Seeing the usually composed and calm man brought to this is breaking the heart Natasha wasn’t sure she had. 

Behind them, Natasha hears a squawk of indignation, and risks looking. She smirks at the sight of Steve being carried by Thor. The soldier is insisting that he feels much better and can walk by himself, if Thor wouldn’t mind, and Thor’s simply answer to that is, “I do.”

Steve’s face goes dark red as snorts of suppressed laughter echo all around, along with one full on belly laugh from someone who doesn’t care to be polite. Natasha faces ahead again, smiling, and when she looks to Coulson, her heart soars to see him smiling, too.

They all take the walk back to the house slowly, and Natasha feels grateful for these strangers who are considerate enough to lag behind, to keep their eyes fixed on the weakest member of the group. Coulson doesn’t seem to notice; he’s breathing hard, his legs are shaking, and the trip is taking a while. Finally, Natasha just curses in Russian and kneels, puts an arm under Coulson’s knees, and lifts him into her arms.

He goes limp, eyes closing, his head resting in the crook of her neck. Coulson was always very easy for her to carry – he’s a small fellow – but he’s even smaller than normal. The man can’t weigh but a hundred pounds. Fierce anger makes her heart pound and Natasha’s jaw clenches. 

They enter the house and one of the professor’s people offers to direct her to the medical ward. For one second, she’s ready to turn them down, to simply find Tony and Bruce and take Coulson home, but something makes her follow. She still doesn’t trust these X-men, and she’s not leaving Coulson’s side for a second, but she figures she should at least give them a chance. Coulson would approve. He was always for giving people chances.

As she follows Jean Grey to the infirmary, she sees Tony in the corner of her eye, sees the shock on his face, and feels her heart clench. There’s nothing she can do; he’s in Bruce’s hands now, because Coulson needs her, and she’s never leaving him alone again. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--=-

Steve’s heart aches when he sees Tony. It’s not just because of their argument from before, and the tension which still fills the air between them; but because of the heartbroken, shattered look on his face, as his eyes trail after Coulson and Natasha. It had been hard, for Steve, to see the agent reduced to this. It has to be even harder for Tony. 

“He is sorry, you know.” A voice comes from beside him and Steve jumps, bumping Thor’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll gather the courage to say so in the next day or two.” The professor smiles at him and Steve smiles back. “Welcome back, Mr. Rogers. I must say, it is a pleasure and an honor to meet you.”

Steve’s still not used to receiving that kind of greeting, especially not from accomplished professors, but he manages to smile and shake the man’s hand. “Thank you, Professor.” 

There’s a flurry of action afterwards; people rushing about; wounds being dealt with; voices echoing all around. If he were in a better state of mind, Steve would be on his feet directing his team. As it is, Thor has placed him on the ground and is still holding most of his weight, and he’s so dizzy he doesn’t think he could walk by himself if he wanted to. Rogue’s power packs more of a punch than he’d bargained for.

He feels a great deal better, almost like himself again, but there’s a fog over his head and his limbs are trembling just slightly. Steve practically sighs in relief when Tony, de facto leader for the moment, announces that they’re all moving to the dining room, for the purpose of being able to sit while they talk things out. 

Thor helps him to a chair then takes a seat beside him, as the other members of the team gather round. They are short two members – Natasha and Clint – and while he knows where Natasha is…

“Where’s Agent Barton?” He asks. Tony stares at him blankly in a rather disconcertingly focused fashion.

“He’s not with you?”

“Nay, friend Tony,” Thor looks puzzled. “He did not appear on the field of battle; though your home’s guardian spirit did inform me that he arrived here, not a day ago.”

“He was here,” the Professor speaks up from the end of the table. “He snuck on board the Blackbird, but…” Closing his eyes, the Professor puts a hand to his temple. “He is not on the grounds.”

“You lost Legolas?” Tony spits, and Steve is not talented enough at catching sarcasm to know if he’s joking.

He wants to insist that he didn’t know Clint had followed them that he was very much preoccupied, but he’s the leader, and he has to take responsibility. Even when his teammates are idiots who sneak off without informing anyone. He must look rather vexed, because Tony actually seems to take pity on him.

“Don’t worry too hard, Cap; He probably just went back to the Tower without us.” Tony waves his worries off. “Or maybe he’s out in the woods, making a nest. Is it Hawkeye mating season? Or is this the time of year that Hawkeyes fly south?” 

“Your house is haunted?” One of the kids asks. He’s being forcibly guided out of the room by Wolverine, who is grumbling about kids not listening and stupid pricks. 

“Yeah, kinda, but he’s a computer.” Is Tony’s response, but the kid has already been shoved into the hall and the door slammed shut.

The room falls quiet, as everyone seems to realize all at once that the fun and games are over – if that’s what that mission and the chaos of arrival could be called. Eyes meet across table tops, hands clench, and tension blankets the room. On one side of the table, Xavier’s people are gathered: Cyclops, Storm, Wolverine, and Dr. McCoy. The Professor himself his at the end of the table, and across from him is Tony. Steve, Thor, and Bruce are on the left, and Steve notices that Bruce is in clothes that are both too large and too Canadian.

“Well, now that we’re all here, I suppose an explanation is in order?” The Professor begins.

“From both sides.” Cyclops adds, his voice tense and low, and he speaks as if being present at this meeting is an affront. Given that he is seated between Wolverine and Tony, it just might be.

“My part’s easy.” Tony grins, leaning forward on his arms. “Someone’s tried to kill me at least once, if not twice, and all evidence thus far connects these attempts to all of you!” He smacks the table with his hand, then leans back and puts his arms behind his head. “There, done. Now’s the part where you either defend your innocence or explain your diabolical plan.”

“Neither I nor my students have been involved in any attempts on your life.” Though he speaks with a grave tone, it almost looks like Prof. X is fighting a smile. Steve wonders if perhaps being a teacher and dealing with children all day prepares one for keeping cool around Tony Stark. “Perhaps if you explained in more detail…?”

Steve let Tony and Bruce, with a little input from Thor, explain what had occurred over the past few weeks and how it had led them to finding Xavier’s mansion. At that point, he’d had to start speaking, since it became necessary to explain the chaos of how each member of the Avengers had arrived separately, and mostly without the knowledge of anyone else on the team.

“Natasha called me and gave me rather cryptic instructions about meeting here. When I arrived, she explained the mission.” Then he went on to explain how Prof. X had informed them that Coulson was alive, and how he and Natasha had chosen to act on that information. “Though I would like to know how you knew about Agent Coulson, sir.”

“Yes, please tell, Prof. Dumbledore, reveal all your secrets as if it were Chapter the last, and the end of term.” Tony cocks an eyebrow at the professor just as Cyclops turns and stares at him, baffled, which Steve thinks is an accomplishment given that Cyclops is wearing an odd gold visor thing on his head. 

“Is there something wrong with you?” Cyclops asked, seemingly attempting to be polite about it while clearly tempted to curse.

“Shut it, Prof. Binns, no one likes you.” 

Steve has a feeling he has missed something; he’s relatively sure Dumbledore is not one of the Professor’s names, and he doesn’t think Cyclops is even a Professor. 

“Explaining that will requiring explaining a great deal, so I suppose I shall begin with what you’ve all been dying to know: Division X.” That makes Steve perk up. 

The explanation which follows is something which Steve feels should be baffling, but the soldier just thinks, “Huh. How about that.” Apparently, becoming a super soldier, sleeping for seventy years, waking up in the future and working with a Norse God and a man who makes Popeye look like a sham, have desensitized him to outlandish, seemingly impossible things. 

Thor doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, and by the look on his face, Steve has a feeling he’s already absorbed what the Professor has said, and has moved on to contemplating lunch. Bruce’s eyes are wide, though more likely from scientific curiosity than surprise, and Tony is smirking, which is hardly unusual.

The quick version: Division X was an effort by the government to find and train people with exceptional, innate abilities, later called mutants, of which Professor X was a part. This division aided the government during the Cold War and the Cuban Missile Crisis, before being dissolved in the sixties. After, Prof. X created his school and continued searching for mutants, offering them a place to live and learn away from the prying eyes of the uninformed masses. Through a great deal of effort and sheer dumb luck, the school and the existence of mutants has remained a secret for forty years, known only by a few members of the more secretive government agencies.

Steve still has some unanswered questions, but the Professor doesn’t seem to be done talking, so Steve remains quiet.

“I discovered Agent Coulson while using my abilities to search for mutants.” The Professor eventually got around to explaining. “The technique which I use highlights mutant minds, makes them stand out against humans. But Coulson was an enigma: neither human nor mutant. When I touched his mind, it was unlike any mind I had ever sensed… until today.” Smiling, the Professor turns to Thor. “Now that I have had the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Odinson, I can accurately say that it was an Asgardian mind which I brushed against when I found Coulson.”

“But the Son of Coul is born of Midgard, not Asgard.” Thor insists, brow furrowing.

“Yes, I know, and that is only one question which regards Coulson’s recovery. How did he come back to life, through what means? And what bearing will it have on his life from now on? I’m afraid that perhaps only time will tell.”

“There’s more than that.” Bruce says. “What about the list?”

“Every person on the list is a mutant.” Storm speaks up from beside the Professor. “But very few of them were involved with Division X; some of them are students here, but many are just children across the world, living ordinary lives.”

“Are there any other connections between all the children?” Cyclops asks.

“Yes, I’m afraid.” Sighing, the Professor says, “They have all been pinpointed by Cerebro. Somehow, we’re being spied upon, and that information is feeding into the government.”

“And being taken by the Frost Queen and Hellboy.” Tony adds. “Hey, have we mentioned any ideas as to why the hell anyone would want to steal this list anyway?”

“That question is the simplest to answer.” Prof. X states. “However they received the information, it is clear that SHIELD and perhaps other government agencies are keeping tabs on mutants, and keeping a list on file of all mutants they know of, and their powers. Those two you mentioned – Emma Frost and Azazel – stole that list so they would know how much the government knows, and which mutants have been made vulnerable. Whatever else this is, that action was done in self-defense.”

“Self-defense?” Steve leans forward and looks down the table. “Do you think the government would actually hurt those kids?”

“No doubt about it, bub.” Wolverine snorts. “If anyone on that list so much as blinks the wrong way, they’re gone.”

“He’s right.” Tony is frowning, seemingly serious for once. “That part makes sense now. They stole the list to prepare for the worst case scenario, to keep one step ahead of the feds. So where does killing me fit in?”

“I’m not quite sure that killing you is connected to that.” Dr. McCoy mentions. “Other than the relative time of occurrence, there is nothing connecting the attack on your house with the attack on the SHIELD base.”

Looking miffed, Tony runs a hand through his hair. “Well, yeah, but –“

“I can’t see where those two would benefit from killing you, anyway.” Cyclops adds. “If anything, killing a famous billionaire and superhero would give mutants all the attention they don’t want.”

“Sure, okay, but what about the suit?” Tony throws his hands out, gesturing wildly. “It just stopped working right. Like – Like I was a puppet, I wasn’t in control anymore. I almost shot Clint!” Exasperated, Tony huffs and slumps back in the chair. “Something else had to be going on there!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees the Professor’s posture change. Before, he was somewhat relaxed; now, his shoulders are stiff, his fingers intertwined and grasping tightly, his gaze lowered. He looks like a college student the night before finals. Cocking an eyebrow, Steve glances between Tony and the Professor.

“Sir… do you know anything about this?” He asks. “Is there anything you can tell us? Maybe a mutant ability that could’ve done something to Tony’s armor?”

The Professor’s gaze darkens, his eyes narrowing, and after a long pause, he sighs. “I am afraid I may have already said too much. As it stands, I am not yet sure I can trust you. I would like to, and hope that, in the future, I will be able to. But what you are asking, I cannot give.” The words are slow and even, as if he’s trying to think of just the right thing to say. “To answer that question would be to betray someone; someone who I am not yet convinced is involved in this beyond the attack on the base.” 

Tony is silent, for once, his lips pressed thin, but he listens as the Professor looks up to him. “Should future information make it clear that my suspicions are correct, I will tell you everything you need to know. But until I am sure that they are trying to kill you, I will not betray their confidence. I am sorry.”

Tony says nothing, so Steve speaks up. “We understand. And thank you for all your help.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=--==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Two hours later, the group is leaving; half the team taking the copter, half the car. Bruce is with Tony in the copter, strapping in and preparing to take to the air. Coulson remains at the mansion, as does Natasha; the team can't care for him at the Tower, and they don't trust the government enough (read: at all) to just hand him back over to SHIELD. So, Xavier's it is, though they've decided to have an Avenger with him at all times. Tony goes through the motions without thought, eyes glazed over. Once they take flight, his eyes flit over the sky and his thoughts wander.

For a while, Bruce doesn’t notice, until he happens to glance to the side and see that Tony looks almost perplexed. “Tony? Are you all right?”

The man mumbles something in reply, unsure of what he actually said, only knowing that it made Bruce turn away. His thoughts are a jumble of things, of information and processes. He’s trying to solve an equation, but it’s missing too many variables. He can hardly make sense of it. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together but there are still too many blank spaces to see the picture clearly.

What he does know, for certain, is that the Professor has a secret. That secret, whatever it is, good or bad, is one of the variables he needs. He can feel it. But he also knows Prof. X won’t just give it up to him, and that aside from another attack on his life or concrete evidence of the identity of his attacker, he probably won’t ever get the information.

That won’t stop him from trying, though. Tony’s already figuring out which meetings he’s going to skip in the next week, so he can come and visit the Professor. In the meanwhile, he flies the copter, and never notices the subtle, worried glances Bruce throws his way.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-

It seems that Charles has spent his whole life trying to fill emptiness.

As a boy, he had wandered the vacant halls of this house and felt chilled by its intimidating stature, its seemingly endless halls and untouched rooms. As a young man, he’d taken the place as his own and set about filling those empty spaces, making those unlived rooms lived in. A few children became a dozen, a dozen became three dozen. Now, the house is full of life and laughter and pounding footsteps barreling around corners.

It still feels empty, to him.

He loves them all like his children, but that’s what they are – children, who look to him for guidance and leadership and all-knowing wisdom. They expect an almost perfect figure in place of a man, even the oldest of them. Charles chuckles, thinking of Tony’s Harry Potter references and thinks perhaps the man was right on the mark. 

In this house, he is alone in the fact that he has no equal, no one to speak to on an even playing field, no one to divulge secret worries with. He keeps the mask of Professor X on constantly, and never allows Charles Xavier out from the confines of his heart. It simply can’t be; the children need him to be perfect, and he would do anything for those kids. Professor X is simply more important than Charles Xavier.

But at night, when the house has slowly begun calming down, when the young ones crawl into bed and leave him with soft smiles and warm hugs, he is alone, and able to fully feel the emptiness. He wanders the halls and they feel as intimidating and endless as before. He listens, with his ears and his mind, and he hears only the muffled chatter of children. 

He enters his bedroom and sets about getting ready to sleep, which is an effort which never grows any easier. What for most may take ten minutes, takes Charles an hour, just to brush his teeth and wash his face, to take a shower and put on his pajamas. In all that struggling and effort, his hands brush over his chair, the support bar in the shower, the faucet of the sink, the bar by his bed. Installations made to assist him, installations made of metal. Constant reminders of everything that has been lost.

After all is done and he pulls himself up into bed, he is left again with emptiness – the huge mattress barely covered by him, his short form and atrophied legs. The other side has not seen anyone in decades. 

Forty years ago, he felt a man die on a beach. His mind was attached to the others, and he felt every bit of agony, every piercing hot pain and horrific burn. The worst part was after, for after came the emptiness as the pain abruptly stopped and he was left with nothing to hold onto; simply a vacancy where once there was awareness.

Charles Xavier may not have died that day, but he quite literally experienced death and loss and came away from it all very much changed. The emptiness never left him, that feeling which filled him when Shaw tumbled into death and left Charles alone in the man’s dead mind, the vacancy, and the hollowness. Charles moves mechanically through his life, performs as he should, helps when he can, devotes all his time to others. It helps him forget, sometimes.

The boy of his youth, the passionate, flirtatious, and charming young man, died on the beach. Professor X is but a shadow of him – crippled in mind and body, desperately lonely and deprived of companionship, eternally waiting for something he knows will never happen. His life is a farce of the life he once lived, the life he thought he’d one day have. There is no hope left for him.

But there is hope left for Tony Stark, the passionate, flirtatious, and charming young man, who is barreling headfirst towards the same bitter loneliness which now burdens Charles. He can see that Tony is making the choices which will destroy him, ignoring the things which matter most, working and working and all the while not seeing how he’s pushing those he loves away.

Someday soon, Tony Stark will face his own Cuban missile crisis, his own moment on the beach, that one moment which will change everything forever. Charles will be there to be sure that moment doesn’t destroy him. 

He can’t save himself – but he will save Tony, no matter what stands in his way.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It is raining like mad, and Betty doesn’t have an umbrella. She’s rushing through the rain in high heels, trying desperately not to fall on her ass on the cement, and her eyes keep glancing at her watch. At this rate, she’ll be late for her flight, and that won’t do. She’s half tempted to take the shoes off and just run.

Her phone rings, and she struggles to dig it out of her pocket. “Oh, hello, Doctor – Yes, hi.” It’s hard to hear over the roar of falling raindrops, the echo of thunder. “Yeah, you could say that!”

The doors to the airport are in sight, but there are still lines and lines of cars in her way. The lamp posts are out, making it difficult to see, and Betty would curse if she weren’t on the phone. “I am making my way to the airport now; hopefully I’ll be there by tomorrow morning. There’s a terrible storm going on here on my side of the world, but I’m hoping there won’t be any delays…”

She’s distracted, and it’s dark, so she doesn’t see the shadow flitting about nearby. Betty feels harried, stressed, and a little worried, and perhaps it is all of those negative emotions together which negate the natural spine-tingling reaction to inevitable danger. 

“It will be good to finally meet, Dr. Foster.” They exchange a few last pleasantries, Betty hangs up and shoves it back into her pocket, cursing up a storm, and then she resolves to remove her shoes, hose be damned…

She never sees it coming.

The blow slams into her neck from behind and she’s out cold before her body hits the ground. Luckily for her, her assailant means her no more harm than that required to keep her quiet. The figure steps out of the shadow, and when it does, it is Betty Ross.

Betty picks up Betty’s bags, leaving the unconscious body on the wet concrete. By the smell of the sulfur which just filled the air behind her, it seems someone has already come to take the body away. Satisfied by a job well done, Betty gathers her things and begins rushing towards the airport.

She has a plane to catch.


	12. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team returns home and life goes back to normal... or as normal as it can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother, who passed away last week. She would have loathed and despised this story and its characters for their queerness, as she would have loathed and despised me for the same.
> 
> Rest in peace, you bigoted buzzard.

The whole team is beat when they are finally home again. Tony takes the lead, his eyes dark and thin, shoulders slumped. No one is talking; exhaustion has taken its toll. The billionaire is vaguely hoping he can deal with the fallout of attacking a US military base once he’s had a few days of sleep. 

“Sir,” He hears JARVIS speak as they approach the front door. “I should inform you that –“

“Save it till morning.” Tony interrupts with a grumble, opening the door as he speaks.

As soon as he opens it, a tall man in a military uniform is visible, sitting in the front hall. His eyes shoot up to Tony’s and he stands just as Tony slams the door shut.

“The house is compromised,” He says, spinning on his heel and strutting towards one of his cars. “Every Avenger for themselves!”

The door is flung open again, and the man steps out. “Tony Stark, don’t you dare run away from me!” The other Avengers stand dumbfounded as Tony proceeds to do exactly that, while an airman with the name tag “James Rhodes” chases after him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Two weeks later

It is good to be back in Asgard again.

Though the reason for the journey troubles Thor, he still finds himself smiling broadly as he walks through his home. Familiar faces grin at the sight of him and friends call out in greeting, and Thor is pleased. But there is a heavy weight in his heart, which keeps the joy from quite reaching his eyes.

The guards make way for his passage and he takes the stairs two by two, rushing into the catacombs. His royal mother and father know not where he is, though certainly they shall soon. He will have to think of how to explain to them the events of the past weeks, but for now, his greatest concern lies ahead.

He comes to a stop in front of a large wall of bars, going all directions: up and down, side to side, corner to corner. Magic flows through them, and he can feel it, though he’s never had a keen sense for magic. It’s so potent, it’s almost overwhelming. The room behind the bars is dark and dim, but he can see a shape, pressed against the back corner, head bowed.

“Brother,” Thor begins. “I would have words with thee.”

For a moment the shadow remains silent. “And after all this time… I thought you’d forgotten about me.” A raspy chuckle echoes out of the room. “And what would make the Thunderer deign to show his face down here?”

Thor feels his throat closing up, and clenches his fists. “Brother, I would be glad to visit you at any hour. Tis only…”

“Your pet humans and Midgard, yes, I know.” Loki’s voice is dark and droll. “I may not be permitted to leave this room, but even the Allfather cannot block all my powers.”

“Surely you jest?” That couldn’t be possible – the Allfather wouldn’t risk allowing Loki any of his abilities.

“Not by choice, of course. But when one looks into the abyss, and sees it looking back… well.” Loki chuckles again. “I have more power now than any of you know. Which is why you are here, is it not?”

Frowning, Thor steps closer to the bars. “What do you know of the Son of Coul and his resurrection?”

“Do you not already know the answer, brother?” Loki stands and approaches the bars, and Thor fights a wince at seeing him. He hadn’t looked good even during the war, but now he is haggard, bone thin, deathly pale, with bags beneath his eyes. “You would not have come if you did not suspect my involvement, and tis true. Even locked here, my powers cannot be contained.” A malicious grin covers his brother’s bony face, and for a moment, he appears almost monstrous. “I revived the Son of Coul. He is alive because of me. How does it feel, Thor, to be indebted to your enemy?”

“We are not enemies!” Thor refuses to think of Loki that way; no matter how many times they meet, facing off against one another, he will never think of Loki as an enemy. He is misguided, lost, tormented even – but not an enemy. 

“Aren’t we!” Loki throws his arms against the bars and they burn him, but he holds on. Thor stares appalled as Loki holds tight despite the smell of burned flesh filling the air. “What are we then – you, who hold the keys to my cage, and I locked here!”

“Loki! Loki, let go, you are harming yourself!” He tries to touch the bars and pry loose his brother’s fingers, but he can’t press through the magic barrier between them. “Loki, let go!”

“Tell me Thor! Tell me what we are!” Loki looks feral, his blood shot eyes widening. “You, who chose Midgard, chose the mortals over me! Who locked me here, and now dares to come and call me brother! What are we!?”

“Brother, I –“ He’s helpless, he can’t do anything. Thor can hardly breathe, watching his brother wail and writhe like a spirit, screaming madly. Tears burn his eyes. 

The thunderous footsteps of the guards come from above, and soon they pass Thor and approach the cell. Thor doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to know what he’s condemned his brother to, so he turns and flees like a coward. Grimacing, Thor fights tears as he rushes back up the stairs as quickly as he came, racing towards Heimdall. He has to leave. He has to get away, to escape the constant reminder of his mistakes, his past, and the brother he destroyed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-

It is close to midnight, two weeks after Coulson’s rescue. It is not the first time Steve has attempted to sneak off and do this – each time before, something had happened. An emergency had popped up, someone had gotten in his way, or Nick Fury had demanded his presence. All sorts of things had stopped him, but thus far, no one had figured out what he was doing.

He assumed it was just a matter of time before one of the Avengers figured it out – but he hadn’t bet it would be this particular Avenger.

“Friend Steve,” He hears Thor ask carefully, stepping into the hall. “Why are you carrying that shovel?”

Freezing, Steve feels embarrassment color his face. “Thor, you – you’re back early!” He hopes he can distract the man, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. Thor crosses his arms and stares hard, and Steve feels this might be what it’s like to be a boy caught sneaking out of the house after curfew.

“When last you left the house in secret, you almost lost your life in battle. I would not risk such a thing again.” Thor says, stepping forward. Sighing, Steve realizes it could be worse, Clint or Natasha or even Tony could’ve been the ones who caught him, and at least Thor might not make fun of him.

“I’m sorry, I just – it’s embarrassing.” He lowers the shovel and puts a hand behind his head. “And sort of hard to explain. But it’s not dangerous, I promise, I’ll only be gone an hour or two.”

Thor seems to be thinking, eyes narrowed, and perhaps it’s just a trick of the eyes, but Steve could swear his eyes seem red. Before he can think on it, Thor’s speaking again.

“Perhaps so, but still I would feel more comfortable if I could accompany you.” Steve blinks, somewhat surprised by the offer, but he can’t deny that company might be enjoyable right now. 

“Uh, sure. But don’t you want to get some rest?”

The god looks down, brow furrowed, and he sighs. “I feel I’ve rested enough.”

Shocked, Steve stares as Thor steps past him towards the door. He’s in a very peculiar mood. Usually, Thor is jovial and cheerful, like an eternal ray of sunshine. Even serious subjects or dangerous situations don’t do much to lower his mood. Something must have happened, Steve thinks as he follows after. He’s never seen Thor in such glum spirits.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Thor finds most mortals to be strange, but Steve Rogers is perhaps one of the strangest. The last thing Thor expected to see when he arrived at the mansion was Steve, in the front hall, holding a shovel. Though Thor is rather pleased with himself for knowing the name of the tool, and its use; if only fair Jane could be here to see his progress!

He exits first, followed by Steve, and then allows Steve to take the lead. “Where is our destination, Steve Rogers?”

“It’s in the city, a couple miles from here.” The man begins. “We could take the subway, but you’re not exactly dressed to blend in.”

Thor glances down; he is still in his armor and cape, and certainly does not blend in well. “Perhaps not.” Thor admits then looks back up. “But we have other ways of travel open to us.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow, confused, and Thor chuckles. Lifting his hand, he summons Mjolnir to him, allowing only a brief show of lightning. He doesn’t want to catch the nearby trees on fire. Once the air has calmed down, he turns to Steve and reaches out to him. Both of the captain’s eyebrows have disappeared behind his bangs, and the baffled look is endearing. Thor chuckles.

“Do not fear, Steve, I shall not drop you.” He says. Realization begins to dawn, and Steve’s mouth falls open. “It is quite exhilarating, I’ve heard.” But Steve is backing away, holding his free hand up.

“Thanks, but I think I’d rather –“

“Nonsense!” Thor strides over, his longer legs easily allowing him to overtake Steve. “Do not fear! Tis very safe!” He wraps a thick arm around Steve’s waist, hoisting him up a bit, and laughs as Steve yelps. His free arm goes around Thor’s neck, holding tightly to his shoulder, while he clutches the shovel to him.

“Really, we can just waaaaaaAAALLK!”

-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

He’s an hour late for his shift. Clint figures he should probably have an excuse, but he doesn’t.

He didn’t leave the mansion until 12:30. Then, when he finally arrived at Xavier’s Institute, he sat in his car for ten minutes debating whether to go in, or turn around and leave. Eventually, cursing up a storm, he stepped out of the car, slammed the door shut behind him, and entered the school.

The halls are quiet, dimly lit, and mostly empty. A few of the older students are still wandering around, and they look at Clint with a healthy mix of fear and awe. Clint ignores them. He heads towards the infirmary, which he knows the location of though he’s never been there. 

He passes the blue guy as he walks, and gives a little nod. The Beast doesn’t scare him, he’s seen weirder in the circus; and even weirder at SHIELD. As he comes closer to the room, he hears voices echoing down the hall.

“… Don’t worry, Dr. Phil, we had a talk about it.”

A few weak chuckles reach Clint’s ears. “You’ve been waiting to use that, haven’t you?”

“Yes I have, and it was physically painful holding onto it, I swear. But honestly, I apologized like an adult human being, he made those puppy dog eyes and tried to apologize – as if that idiot ever does anything wrong – we went our separate ways as unlikely friends… sort’ve.”

“Sort of?”

“I may have made his head explode from insinuating certain things.”

“You can never just let things end peacefully, can you?”

“It’s not my fault Cap’s so easy to mess with. Don’t tell me you’re on his side, too? Oh, I forgot the whole hero-crush thing, of course you’re on his side.”

“It’s nothing as juvenile as a crush, Tony. Or anything else romantically inclined.”

“Oh, good, because I’d hate for you to have your heart broken when Steve and Thor finally put their combined 2 brain cells together and figure out they’re head over heels for each other.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re the one being obtuse about your feelings.”

“I’m always obtuse about my feelings.”

Clint slides up to the door, leans against the wall outside, and takes a deep, steadying breath. That is his mistake. Tony’s head appears in the doorway suddenly, eyes widening at Clint. Then a hand grabs him. “About damn time, don’t you know I have a thousand and two things to do? My babysitting for the evening is through.” Clint feels his heart stop as Tony drags him into the room, and he tries keep his eyes towards the floor, but he can’t help but look and…

He’s thin and pasty and easily mistakable for a ghoul, but there’s no doubt who he is. And he’s alive. Horribly injured and scarred as if he’d been run through a paper shredder, but alive, and that is the only thing that matters. The word is on repeat in Clint’s mind: alive, alive, alive. Every other thought has stopped, every other brainwave ended, as if the only thing that exists is the reality of Coulson, alive in front of him.

“Do you like the doorframe, Barton?”

It takes a minute for the archer to realize Tony has already left, Coulson has spoken, and Clint has been staring for much too long. “Uh, yeah. Nice, sturdy. Leaves a little to be desired in the practicality department.”

“Hard to guard your back when it’s open to the whole hall.” Coulson agrees, a small smile coming to his face. It looks pained. Clint finds himself trying to smile back, and it’s probably strained too, he imagines. “Not that this room really has any high ground.”

Crossing the tile floor, Clint steps up onto the window ceil, balancing on the edge with his feet, arms wrapped around his knees. “I make do with what I’ve got.”

Coulson gives a weak grunt. “You were always good at that.” A silence follows, one which is neither comfortable nor awkward. It’s almost smothering in its intensity, though. “Been on an assignment?”

Clint can translate that to, Where have you been? Why haven’t you come to see me in the two weeks I’ve been here? “Yeah. In a way.” Coulson’s stare asks him to elaborate. “Fury had me going through some training. Trying to… clear my head.”

Coulson nods and Clint knows that Coulson understands exactly what happened. Fury knew this most recent mission meant more to Clint than perhaps anyone else, and that afterwards, his head wouldn’t be screwed on quite right. So, Fury called him in, and helped him get himself together. Say what you will about Nick Fury, but he looks after his own.

“How’ve you been?”

Clint bursts into laughter then tries to cover it by moving a hand over his mouth. He knows it’s too late. “Fine. Just fine. You?”

“Great.” Coulson smiles, though Clint can see the glisten of tears under his eyes. His heart clenches. “Even better now.” 

On his feet in an instant, Clint grips Coulson’s hand tight. When the agent looks up at him, Clint sees Phil, his friend, who’s been through things so nightmarish the human imagination would have troubling imagining them. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

It says something about everything that’s happened that Phil doesn’t even object.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tony is halfway to the entrance when he suddenly feels the compulsion to turn left, instead of heading straight ahead. He snorts. “You could’ve just sent an email. ‘Hey, Tony, want to stop by and have a chat before you go?’” He follows his feet as he complains, entering a study on the side of the hall. Prof. Xavier’s outline can be seen beside a roaring fire. “So, is having a big fancy study with a fireplace a condition of being a professor?”

“As much as having an ego the size of a country is a condition of being a billionaire.” Xavier jokes as he turns. There’s a small, gentle smile on his face, which is rather disarming. No one ever looks that calm and at peace when they’re in the same room as him. Not even his friends. “I’ve had a lot of practice dealing with strange temperaments during my years as a teacher, Mr. Stark. I don’t think you could antagonize me too much now.”

Tony slaps a hand to his forehead. “Psychics be gone!”

The smile becomes a smirk. “It’s not my being intrusive, I’m afraid; you simply have a very loud inner voice, Tony.” 

Sighing melodramatically, Tony slides into a chair nearby. “In that case, you will simply have to accept being blessed with my ingenious, imaginative thoughts all the time.”

“Of course.”

“And if any of my designs are stolen out of my head, I’ll know who to blame.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Stark. As curious as most of your inventions are, I am much too busy teaching to attempt to invent anything.”

Smiling, Tony pats the arm chair. “Good to know.” There’s a bit of exhilaration running through him. He only knows a few people who can keep up with him verbally, and most of them get annoyed with him pretty easily. Strangely enough, his little visits with the Professor over the past two weeks have been, dare he say it, relaxing. Comfortable. 

Red alert! Red alert! Becoming invested in people! Expressing emotions! Abort! Abort!

If Xavier heard that thought, he doesn’t mention it, and so neither does Tony. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-

When Steve’s feet touch the ground again, it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and kissing it. He’s flown before, he’s dropped out of an airplane before, but there’s something different about knowing the only thing keeping you from going squish is one man’s hold. Granted, that man is technically a god, but Steve’s stomach still got all tied up in knots on that flight. 

“Are you well, Steve?” Thor’s hand falls onto his shoulder as Steve puts a hand on his throat.

“Fine, my internal organs are just trying to catch up with me. Give them a minute.” Thor laughs, and it’s a bright, cheerful sound that makes Steve smile. Maybe he could go for another flight if the reward was that sound. Wow, Rogers, that was cheesy.

Looking up, Steve sees they have indeed arrived at the right place, which he finds surprising. He wasn’t sure if his directions would help, given they were arriving by a very different means than he’d supposed. Apparently, Thor was keen enough to take his road suggestions and follow them by flight… and while Steve had never really thought Thor to be unintelligent, he’ll admit he hadn’t thought of him as particularly intelligent. But you’d have to have a good memory and strong spatial intelligence to be able to look down on a grid of lights and roads and follow them.

The two stand within a familiar graveyard, where both had been not a few weeks ago. The look on Thor’s face says he’s beginning to recognize it, but is also confused as to why they are there. Steve stalks forward, looking for one particular sight. Thor’s heavy footsteps begin a few moments later.

After a bit of walking, they come across the right grave: Phil Coulson. Strengthening his resolve, Steve turns to Thor as he approaches.

“Alright, buddy,” He begins. “Ready to dig?”

-=-=-=--=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-

It’s as he’s driving home that night that Tony begins to question his motives in making such frequent visits to Prof. Xavier’s office.

Sure, he goes to the institute a few times a week for his shift with Coulson, but he’s there even more often just to speak with Xavier. At first, he was just trying to get more information on whatever it is Xavier’s keeping from him; more and more, it seems as if Xavier is the one digging through his secrets.

That night, for instance, his attempt to learn more about Xavier’s family had led to an hour long discussion of his relationship with his father. Tony had always thought he had something of a silver tongue, but Xavier had seen right past it and Tony didn’t think he even had to use his gift to do it. Tony was just transparent to him, and that really put the billionaire on edge. He wore a lot of masks, had mastered the art of covering his true thoughts and feelings with false images, and this fifty something professor cut through the illusions with no trouble. 

Yet he still kept coming back. Why was that? If he didn’t know better, he’d think the professor was forcing him to, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Never before had he willingly placed himself, multiple times, into situations where he wasn’t in control. But something about Charles Xavier was so curious and intriguing to him, that he couldn’t help coming back.

He pulls into the garage at the mansion still lost in thought, going through the motions as he dwells on Xavier. Only when he’s in the living room, walking past the occupied couch, is he pulled out of his thoughts by a voice.

“Tony.” He spins around, taken off guard but he tries to hide it with his usual grin and swagger.

“Hey, Rhodey, enjoying the plasma? New installation, pretty spiffy huh?” Tony gestures towards the TV. “Netflix is on it if you want to peruse some shows or something – I’d hang around but I’ve got a, uh –“

“Tony, cut the bullshit.” Rhodey stands and approaches. “You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks. We’ve got to talk about what happened.”

“I thought Fury handled all that.”

“Yeah. He talked to the military. I’m talking about you, telling me, as your friend, what the hell’s been happening around here. Because from my point of view, you’ve been neglecting to tell me a lot, including but not limited to: you almost dying in outer space; you almost being blown up in your own house; and your suit suddenly turning against you in the middle of a battle.” Rhodey really does look very upset, Tony can tell by his flared nostrils, his posture, the tone of voice which kind of sounds like Rhodey’s dad did when they were kids. “Want to tell me about all that?”

No. No, Tony does not. But it doesn’t look like he’s going to have much of a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter took so long, and is so short – I’ve had a lot going on, and I’ve had trouble getting time to write. I finally just decided to cut this chapter short so y’all would have something to read.
> 
> Don’t worry, future installations will be posted much faster.


	13. The Road to Recovery Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson is healing and so is Clint, but they've miles to go before peace is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEAR GOD I AM SO SORRY! I never meant for this hiatus to last so long; even now I'm having a hard time finding time to write after months of putting off writing. But now, I only have eight days of school left and then I'm free!
> 
> To let you guys know that I am not dead and neither is this story, here is a little teaser. It's not long, so it's a 'part 1', but it's something to let you know this story has not concluded yet.
> 
> Expect more in the next week or so!

Betty Ross saunters through the dimly lit hall with long, even strides, her hardened eyes set dead ahead. Hidden security cameras mark her every move, but she pays them no mind. She’s doing nothing wrong at the moment.

She approaches a large, broad door; at one side is a scanner, which she approaches. Placing her hand upon the pad, she remains still while her prints are taken. Then, she leans in and lets her eyes suffer the same treatment. When she leans away she moves towards the door, ready to walk forward, when suddenly a computerized voice speaks up.

“Password.”

Betty freezes, but it is a momentary hesitation in movement which gives away nothing. But she is stalling; the longer she waits, the more suspicious it seems. None of the plans had mentioned any passwords, none of Ross’s documents or emails had mentioned this particular safeguard. How can she move forward?

In her panic, she did not immediately hear someone approaching from behind, which is why she startles when a hand comes upon her shoulder.

“New around here?” The stranger, a short and somewhat stocky woman with voluminous black hair, smiles at her. “Don’t worry, everybody freaks out about the password thing. It’s one of many of the director’s new ideas since that first base was attacked.” Patting her shoulder, the stranger approaches the door, speaks the password, and the doors open. The only show of surprise on Betty’s face is her slightly widened eyes. 

The woman holds out a hand. “Name’s Darcy. You’re Betty Ross, right?” Ross nods slowly, analyzing this newcomer slowly. “Jane told me all about you. Dr. Foster, that is. She’s the one you’re here for, right?”

“That’s right. And please, call me Betty.” She makes a show of smiling and that seems to please Darcy.

“Sure. This way.” She nods her head towards the door, and Betty falls into place beside her as they begin to walk. “This whole thing’s freaky, isn’t it?”

Betty keeps her expression cool. “Freaky?”

Darcy shrugs and looks around, as if gesturing to their surroundings. “This whole base and everything. We were brought here to be kept safe months ago during the invasion, but the invasion’s over and we’re still here.” Snorting, Darcy takes a turn towards one hallway and Betty follows. “They keep telling us it’s for our own good. But come on, Jane’s area of expertise isn’t exactly what they’re looking for here, and I’m a college undergrad, what the hell can I do?” Sighing exasperatedly, Darcy let her eyes roll up and then towards Betty. The woman realizes she is being looked to for support.

“I see what you mean. But, tell me… what exactly do they have Dr. Foster doing here?”

“Beats me.” Darcy admits. “They won’t let me see her, most of the time, and when they do she always talks like people are listening. Screw them, I don’t give a shit who’s listening!” She shouts the last part at the ceiling, glowering at it as she did. Betty fought the urge to scowl at the foolish, blustering action.

“You don’t trust them?”

“Not really.”

Schooling her features, Betty turns ahead. “I don’t blame you. I can only imagine a few reasons why they would do this to you, and well… they aren’t pretty.”

Confusion clouds Darcy’s face. “What are you thinking?”

Betty pretended to appear apprehensive, before divulging her secret. “Did you know that the Asgardian Thor had returned to Earth?” By the sudden widening of her eyes, the answer appeared to be no. “I see. They didn’t tell you – do you think they told Jane?”

“No – no way, I’d know if they did.” Darcy seems sure, so Betty left it alone. “Why wouldn’t they tell us?”

“Seems to me there’s only one reason to keep the close friends of Thor in a government building, under close guard, with no contact with the outside.” Betty speaks slowly; trying to make sure the point is made. Then, she turns to Darcy. “They want leverage.”

“Wait, you’re saying… we’re blackmail for Thor?” Darcy stops where she is, mouth agape. Betty slows to a halt.

“Or for the entire Avengers team. It seems to me the government would be itching for such a thing, given the attack on that army base a few weeks ago.”

“Attack?” Darcy approaches quickly, eyes narrowing. “Who attacked?”

“The Avengers did – they disagreed quite vehemently with some of the military’s more secretive experiments and weren’t afraid to let them know it. I’m afraid that will only work once. Now, the long arm of the law is sure to find something to hold over the Avengers head’s to make them toe the line.”

“And you think we’re it?” Darcy whispers. Betty does her best to look nervous, unsure. Inside she is smug.

“I can’t say for sure… but that’s what it looks like.” The woman’s face hardens and her eyes flare with anger. 

“Thanks.” She mutters, fists clenching. “Look, um… no offence, but I have to go.” She storms off, leaving Betty behind with a smirk on her lips.

Mission accomplished. If the two women were as smart and resourceful as reports made them seem, they would be gone from the base within the week, leaving ‘Betty Ross’ with fewer heads looking over her shoulders. Straightening her back, the woman turns and goes to the office she was meant to report to, feeling a sense of pride and almost elation at her so far successes. If all went well, she’d soon be on her way to discovering what this project really is, and Betty Ross’s role in it.

\------------------------------------------------

 

Phil Coulson almost feels like himself again. It’s not due to the fact that he can sit up by himself now, or that he’s strong enough to stay awake longer. It has everything to do with his renewed friendship with the agents who knew him best.

“So what’s the plan?” Clint said from his place beside the man. They were meandering through the halls of the school, Phil moving his chair by running his hands over the wheels, Clint sauntering by his side. 

“Plan?”

“For once you get out of here.” Clint shrugged and glanced ahead. “There’s no way you’re returning to S.H.I.E.L.D. when they’ll just order you back to the bastards who had you in the first place. And you can’t stay here unless you want to be driven out of your mind by small children.” Clint recoiled slightly as two such children ran past him, laughing and playing.

Clint is being ridiculously overprotective, and nothing could make Phil happier. For the first time since he awoke, his friend seems to truly be returning to himself. His eyes are brighter, his pose less haggard, his mood no longer eternally trapped in the morose. It will take more time than this for the wounds to truly mend, but this gives him hope.

Clint might think he’s hiding it, but Coulson knows him too well. It doesn’t help that it’s always been his job to know things other people want to keep hidden. Guilt pours out Clint’s skin like sweat, permeates the air around him, shows itself in the way the archer never meets anyone’s eyes. His friend is saturated in pain and the only thing that’s given him any relief is seeing Coulson recover.

Coulson has been glad for his help; ever since he showed up in the hospital the first time, Clint’s been spending more and more time with him. Each subsequent meeting has improved their dynamic, and Coulson’s health. Soon, he hopes to be independent again, so that he might return the favor for his friend. It’s been long coming, and Phil knows that no one, not even Natasha, could truly pull back the masks and repair the hidden damage beneath. Not like Phil could.

He can imagine the thoughts racing through that head, and the pain hidden in that heart, and the only things that make Coulson feel better about it is the memory of Loki being flung back by that gun on the helicarrier. 

“I think I’ll have to call upon Tony Stark’s compassion for a while.” Coulson shrugged. “What am I saying? That’s a terrible idea.”

“Probably right, but at least you’ll have me and Natasha around.” Clint smirked at him, and Coulson smiled back.

“I suppose that’s enough incentive to deal with Stark.”

That’s not the only incentive. The past few weeks have endeared him to quite a few of the Avengers, especially the Captain. The agent’s face grew red at the memory. Not only had Captain America helped save his life and rescue him from his prison, but he’d immediately leapt out of bed and… and…!

Unconsciously, his hand drifts up to his pocket, and he falls into memory. The first week of his return, perhaps only a day after he’d awakened, he’d been surprised by two visitors. 

None of the Avengers had been due to see him then, so he was doubly surprised to see Thor and the Captain standing at his bedside, covered in mud and filth and who knew what else, looking relatively tired but mostly upbeat for some reason. Confusion had marred the agent’s face even as Steve Rogers beamed at him. Having your hero look at you like you were a hero was certainly something.

“I, uh…” The Captain grew nervous then, but held his hand out. “These are yours. I’m really sorry about their condition, I – I didn’t know.” That seemed to be all he could say, as he grew red and clammed up just then.

Trembling hands reached out to take the cards in Steve’s palm, cards Coulson knew all too well. His cards – covered in blood and dirt and, was that mildew!? The agent had been shaking in abject horror and building rage, when suddenly his eyes had trailed down to the bottom corner. There, at the fraying edges, he saw see something that sent his mood spiraling back upwards and made him gasp. 

The Captain’s signature, on every single beaten card. That made them worth more than any pristine set out there, mildew or no. 

In real time, Coulson smiles and trails his hand over where the cards are kept in his jacket, his sole possessions in this world. Everything he used to own, all his clothes and bank accounts and his home, are gone; passed on to relatives or the state or otherwise divvied out as his will had instructed. 

Given that he can’t walk up to his loved ones, say “Honey, I’m home” and take his things back, he’ll have to start over. The idea is more than overwhelming, given that he doesn’t even own the clothes on his back. All he has is a set of signed Captain America trading cards, tarnished and half ruined, much like how he feels himself. If the Captain were around he imagines the man might make a corny comparison about the value of the cards as a metaphor for his own worth; though he’s not around to say it, Coulson still hears it in his head, and can’t help but chuckle.

Yes, he feels worthless and ruined and desperately afraid, but it’s not over yet. He’s lost his job, his family and friends, his life, but he’s not completely lost.

“Hey?” Clint’s voice cuts through his reverie, concerned. “You still with me?”

Coulson glances up, smiles, and in a move that seems to surprise the archer, reaches out and takes his hand. “Yeah.” He states with a nod. “I’m right here.”

And this time, he’s not going anywhere.

\---------------------------------------

Pepper Potts prides herself on always being on time. It was one of those things she strove for in an effort to make up for Tony’s faults, back in the good ole days when they were constantly working together. She won’t admit it aloud, but she misses those days. 

The point is, Pepper is never late, but if her conniving Russian girlfriend gets her way, that streak is about to break.

“Natasha, I have to go!”

Her hands are handcuff to the bed frame; not in any explicit, kinky sort of way. They’d tried it once and found it was too similar to Natasha’s work for her to enjoy, and that Pepper was simply very vanilla. No, the handcuffs are just there to keep Pepper from going to work.

“I don’t think you do.” Natasha’s sly voice echoes out from the bathroom, unconcerned. Pepper keeps pulling on the cuffs, for all the good it does. “According to your records, you have more than a month’s leave built up and I think it’s time you use it.”

With one last frustrated tug Pepper grimaces and slumps against the bed. “You can’t just decide I’m on vacation!”

Natasha walks in, two cups of coffee in hand, shrugs and gives her girlfriend an uncaring look. “Why not? Left to your own devices, you never will.”

Pepper has to admit that’s true. While she’s tried to learn from Tony’s mistakes, overworking seems to be something engrained in her that she can’t let go. All those years of keeping up with her workload and Mr. Stark’s have left their mark.

Still, she can’t give up without a good fight. “Natasha…” Her whine does her little good; Natasha raises an eyebrow at Pepper’s pouty lips.

“Are you going to be good or must I keep you locked up?”

Damn. “Fine.” Grimacing she nods. “Fine. Have it your way, you… you…” She is trying to think of insults, but soft lips are tracing the line of her jaw as a hand goes up to her cuffs and unlocks them.

“Vacations can be quite… charming.” Natasha whispers into her ear. “I promise I’ll show you their merits very thoroughly.”

Suddenly a few weeks off doesn’t sound so bad.

\----------------------------------------

It’s been two weeks since Betty Ross left and Tony has been both thoroughly relieved and absolutely terrified.

He doesn’t think Bruce has figured it out, or at least he desperately hopes so. Bruce hasn’t known Tony long enough to tell when he’s head over heels, idiotically in love. Sadly, there is someone currently staying in the Avengers Mansion who does know Tony well enough, and is not afraid to laugh at him for it.

“Banner?” Rhodey asks incredulously. “Of all the people on the team, you go for Banner?”

Tony is not embarrassed. Tony Stark does not do embarrassed. The heat in his cheeks is leftover from working in the sweltering mess of the garage, and that’s it. He storms away from his friend without giving him a response. Rhodey, undeterred, follows with a big grin on his face. He’s still chuckling about it and that part of Tony that won’t let him not respond to provocation finally escapes his mouth.

“Yeah, Banner, what’s the big deal?” It’s not his most eloquent reply in the world, but he honestly doesn’t care enough at the moment. He needs coffee, and maybe a replacement best friend. Or at least a staircase to shove him down.

“It’s just so out of character.” Rhodey states, and Tony will give him that, it really is. “Agent Romanov I would guess you’d be all over – and given the inevitable rejection which would have occurred, I would have seen you trying Thor next maybe. He’s a traditionally handsome, vapid jock type. You used to eat people like him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Okay, one – Thor’s not an idiot.” Tony actually stops and spins around, pointing at Rhodey and feeling more vehemence in his tone than he’d expected. He’s… surprised. This sudden surge of protectiveness feels out of place on his tongue. “Secondly, I resent the idea that all of my conquests were vapid jocks. Some of them were vapid cheerleaders.”

“Nevertheless, you’ve never tried dating anyone who could match you intellectually besides Pepper, which I still don’t understand why that didn’t work!” This is an old argument Tony doesn’t want to get into, so he sighs and returns to stalking towards the kitchen. Rhodey follows. “You two did so well together! There was UST flying through the air for years –“

“UST, what the fuck, Rhodey?”

“Unresolved Sexual Tension, yes, it was there!”

“You sound like a teenager talking about Supernatural.” They turn into the kitchen side by side, still bickering, but Tony honestly hasn’t felt this relaxed in weeks. He’s been on edge ever since his own realization, and his edginess has made his new friends wary. Rhodey, so used to Tony’s moods, doesn’t give two shits if Tony’s on edge or not. 

“Listen, Tone, I’m not trying to be a dick or anything…” Sighing, Rhodey runs a hand over his forehead. “I’m just trying to understand. This is huge. I mean, you and Pepper just ended it a few months ago and that was honestly the first time you ever tried having a real relationship. Are you sure you’re ready to try again?”

His chest feels so tight it’s like he’s not breathing. His hand pauses midair as he’d been pouring coffee, and he only just notices when the cup is about to overflow. “Yeah. That’s why I’m not telling him.”

Suddenly the conversation is not as light-hearted as it had been. “Tony…” Rhodey moves closer, a hand coming to his friend’s shoulder. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t try. Just… warning you it won’t be easy.”

Tony resists the urge to pull away because he knows Rhodey knows his tricks and will just follow him. “I can’t, Rhodey. I can’t screw this up.” He’s being surprisingly candid and he blames the exhaustion and the fact that he’s been dying to say these words to someone, anyone, for weeks. “He needs somebody bad, Rhodes, somebody he can rely on and that’s sure as fuck not me.” Tony’s the one who relies on other people to keep him together, to keep him whole. He can’t be relied on, not for anything.

Rhodey’s hand squeezes his shoulder then falls away, and nothing more is said. Tony returns to his coffee, taking his first few sips and letting himself stew in the darkness his thoughts have become. When he turns around, Rhodey’s gone.


	14. War Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threats are made, enemies appear out of the shadows, and war begins.

At 4:34 in the afternoon, "Betty Ross" steps out of the secret government base for the last time. It is an installation which does not legally exist in any document or report, and is one of the most well-kept secrets in American history. In her pocket, she carries a hard drive which contains all the information in the computers of that installation, everything she was told to take. 

The first thing she does once she's miles away, and has safely assumed some other identity, is make a phone call on a disposable cell phone which cannot be traced.

"It's done," She says. Nothing else is said; the phone is discarded. 

The new mission begins.

-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-

A striking figure stands beneath a luminous moon. It is the middle of the night, darkness long since fallen, and his is the only silhouette. He stands upon the balcony of a dingy apartment, in a nowhere town. His identity, his credit card, they're all fake; by morning, he'll be gone, and no one will remember him.

For a moment he contemplates the precipice he stands upon: from this moment on, nothing will be the same. He's been preparing for this for years, what feels like centuries, but though he feels he is ready he still stands in awe that it is really happening. There's a brief instant when he regrets that it must happen; but it is brief. This is the only way.

Someone knocks on the door, pushes it slightly agar. "We're ready, boss." Then leaves. The man lingers in the moonlight for a moment longer, then turns and saunters out the door.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A domino falls - and all the other dominoes begin tumbling down.

In Washington, a member of the Secret Service, standing only feet from the President, suddenly turns and aims his gun at the man in charge of the United States of America - only to turn the gun upon himself a moment later, and blow his own brains out.

Across the country, benk owners awaken to find the vaults to their safes open, their locks unlocked, everything open for the taking, but nothing is taken.

A vicious tornado springs up in the middle of New York City - it lasts only for thirty three seconds. Dozens die.

And at 4:35, a video is released upon the internet.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tony Stark is hiding in his lab, tinkering away, when pounding feet come down the stairs. Half turning, Tony sees it's Steve, and with a roll of his eyes turns back to his work. He's about to let loose with a witty repartie, until the man speaks.

"Tony!" There's something sharp, panicky in the leader's voice, vulnerable. Something's wrong. "You need to be up here, it's - it's Bruce."

That's all it takes - Tony's throwing tools aside, running up the stairs past Steve two at a time, until he comes to the living room on this floor. Clint is in the kitchen, making eggs, which have begun to burn as his attention has become riveted to the television. The only other person in the room is Bruce, who stands before the TV with shaking limbs, wide eyes barely tinged green, and he seems slightly taller than he should be.

Tony is by his side in an instant - he looks meaningfully back at Steve, who nods and moves to Clint. Both blonds rush away, to what Tony doesn't care, because his only concern is the man slowly transforming in front of him.

"Tony!" The voice is half Bruce, half Hulk. "Tony, they - they have Betty!"

The anguish in his voice draws out Tony's own agony. There was no love lost between him and the scientist, but this? Arms around Bruce's shoulders, he looks at the television, where Betty Ross is kneeling on the ground, a gag in her mouth, tears pouring down dirt stained cheeks. It's a very familiar sight, though last time he was in Ross's place, kneeling on the ground of a cave in Afghanistan. He clutches Bruce tighter.

-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--==-

"Sir!"

Director Fury already knows; he's been informed, and so he pushes the officer aside and runs to his terminal on the ship. Betty Ross has supposedly been with a government installation for the past few weeks, which means that she was either just caught or was never there, and they've been infiltrated. Neither option bodes well.

The video is still playing, live, on the computer behind him, the audio turned up loud. So when a gun shot rings out, he hears it loud and clear.

That turns him back around, his one eye quite wide. The girl's not dead. But the bullet is right by her head, just... hanging there. She's screaming through the gag, though she hasn't been hurt, and the sound is heartbreaking and sharp.

Every so often she gasps, her sobs breaking through the gag, her chest heaving, but she doesn't dare move her head. Fury stalks towards the screen, eye narrowed, as a figure steps behind the captive. Austere, tall, and shadowed, this stranger commands attention, and provokes suspicion all at once. His is an aura that says he is to be feared. A lesser man might be cowed by that.

"We," The figure starts. "did not begin this. But I have resolved to end it." For a moment, he stands quietly, intimidatingly hovering beyond the woman.

"You have taken from us. I will take the same from you. You have attempted to exterminate us, to use us. We shall not stand by and wait to be slaughtered. You want war? You shall have it. We have declared it - and will not be satisfied until our conquest is complete."

He steps forward slightly, and a thin line of pale skin and a thin-lipped smirk become visible. "The Brotherhood has finally found you - and there will be no escape."

The bullet, which had been hovering by Betty Ross's head the whole video, suddenly drops to the floor with a disarming clink of metal. Then the video ends.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bruce is now more green than pale skinned, and his clothes are ripped in multiple places. He's hunched over the ground, gripping it with meaty fingers that tear the floor like butter. Tony's still with him, kneeling at his side, and he hasn't stopped talking since the transformation began. 

"Bruce, Bruce it's all right, she's alive!" Tony insists into his ear; or where his ear had been, as it's risen a foot above the ground. "She's still alive, we can save her!"

He's not sure his friend can hear him, but he's not going to leave. He's not the kind of asshole who leaves people when they need him most, not anymore.

"Tony!"

Oh, shit on a stick, this isn't good, because that's Rhodey, who the Hulk has never met before and who has never met the Hulk, and this is not the kind of situation he wanted to introduce them in, so Tony stands and turns to tell him to go, now - only to find Rhodey already halfway across the room, gun drawn. "Rhodey, no!"

"Tony, run, now!" The airman, bless his stupid heart, is trying to save Tony but when will people begin to realize he doesn't need saving, not from the Hulk, who has never hurt him and has in fact saved his life multiple times, and he should really be saying these things aloud to reassure Rhodey but it's all happening too fast and he needs to get Rhodey out of here - !

Hulk growls, and with that spins round and flings an arm out. It's lucky he hasn't grown to full size yet, as he barely misses hitting Rhodey upside the face. "Rhodey, get the hell out of here!" His friend turns to Tony with eyes like dinner plates, asking him with speaking what the hell is he thinking, but Tony just gestures to the door. The Hulk moves, and Tony braces himself to watch as his best friend is squished into a pancake by the maybe-love-of-his-life, only the arms don't go for Rhodey.

Suddenly he's got a big, green limb wrapped around his middle, and he's being pulled to a broad chest before the Hulk collapses against the far wall - which begins to crack under the strain - and remains there, glowering at Rhodey. Rhodey is staring, mouth agape, at the sight, likely ignoring all the good advice Tony is currently shouting at him.

"What did I tell you? Get the fuck out of here before he changes his mind and I have to clean your remains out of the carpet!" Tony screeches. "Go, go, go!" Rhodey seems to finally get the idea because he's stumbling for the door.

"I'm coming back with help, Tony, I promise -"

"Oh just shut up!" With a roll of his eyes, Tony settle against the Hulk because it's unlikely he's going anywhere anytime soon. "I'm fine, safe as can be! Just go!"

Finally he's gone, and the world is quiet. Tony's heart is pounding in his chest, he's covered in sweat, and feels like he just ran a marathon, but everyone's okay. They're all alive. Glancing to the TV, he realizes that in the chaos the Hulk had pounded it to pieces, but if that's the only collateral that comes from this situation Tony will be quite relieved.

It takes only a moment for him to realize the Hulk is being uncharacteristically strange. Usually, when threatened, he runs for the hills, bellowing and rumbling. Tony tries to turn in his embrace, and sees - sees that big head hunkered down, messy green hair hanging over wet eyes. Something in Tony's chest cracks, beneath the reactor. For a moment he thinks he's never felt so much, for anyone, but here he is being assaulted by a maelstrom of pity, love, sorrow, and uncertainty because a big green man is crying.

"Hey," He whispers softly, and begins trying to move. The Hulk's grip tightens and he yelps. "Lighten up! I'm not leaving, you big lug, I'm trying to turn around and hug you!" He's not sure that the concept gets through, for a moment, but then the grip lessens and he can move.

So he turns, throws his arms around the Hulk's neck as best he can, and lets the big guy cry. He's never been good at comfort, or openly sharing emotion, or being open about feeling or any of that bullshit. Yet here he is, comforting the Hulk, comforting Bruce. If it were anyone else, he'd have left with a sharp remark and the stomp of his feet.

Yeah, he's got this love thing going on really bad.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Not hours later, the Avengers are gathered in one of the meeting rooms in the mansion, along with Rhodey, who stands by Tony's shoulder like a sentinel, arms crossed, turning to glare at Bruce every so often. But at the same time, his eyes are surprisingly soft and searching, as if looking for something in the way Bruce and Tony sit side by side, and lean into each other. He's protective and he's confused by this new Tony Stark he's seeing, and he's not sure whether to thank Bruce Banner for this change or to put a court order on him to stay away. Not that Tony Stark ever listened to court orders anyway.

Rhodey's the outsider in this meeting, and it shows, but he doesn't really care. He only stopped by to check on Tony, because if one doesn't do that every so often it's likely the man will kill himself from lack of care or maybe burn his house down (which he did, apparently, do a few months ago while Rhodey was still on tour). The strange thing now, though, is that Tony has six or seven babysitters instead of just two, him and Pepper. That would be great... if he actually knew and trusted any of these people.

On the screen at the end of the table is Director Fury, explaining the situation, telling the group of all the strange occurrences of the day, what they'd discovered about the video (almost nothing) and the fact that Betty Ross had never, in fact, been at the government installation she was supposed to be at.

"You're sure she wasn't taking right after leaving?"

"No, because the timing was too close." Fury frowns. "And that was on purpose. Betty Ross checked out of the base at 4:34, and the video aired online exactly a minute later."

"So they were making a point." Natasha, arms crossed, glares at empty air as if it was the culprit. "They wanted us to know the real Betty Ross had never been there."

"But why?" Steve asks with incredulity which has been present in his tone since the meeting began. "What's the reason for all this?"

"The almost murdering the president, the almost thievings, the person who's not who they say they are - " Tony rattles on. "It's a message. They're making a point."

"Stretching their muscles, showing us what they can do to intimidate us." Clint finishes. 

"Exactly." The inventor is enthused, leaning onto the table, gesturing wildly with his arms. "They can get into our bases without us knowing, they can take out our leaders, steal our capital, and we can't do shit about it. It's a scare tactic."

"It's working." Fury growls, his eye narrowing. "The higher ups are shitting their pants, and the president is demanding answers. We have none. The Brotherhood, whoever they are, are very good at keeping off the radar."

"They are mutants." Thor offers, speaking up for the first time. "They must be. The timing of these events is too close not to implicate them. They must be the group that has been targeting us, targeting Tony." He gestures to the man, and Tony nods his agreement.

"I think he's right - I think this is the guy Xavier thought was behind all this, which means now's the time to go and get some answers from the old guy."

"That's not going to be possible." Fury states rather quietly, drawing the attention of the whole group. For a moment everyone's silent.

Tony's simple, heart-wrenching, "no", is what breaks it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

They'd come in the middle of the night - a team of government agents, prepared for what abilities mutants had to offer, protected against evasions of the mind and super-powered strength. They got through the mansion's defenses, snuck past its guard, and in dead silence, made away with the oldest denizens of the house.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"Everyone involved in that project forty years ago was taken." Fury finishes explaining. The longer he spoke, the lower Tony drooped open the table, fists clenched tight, eyes holding in bitter tears. Rhodey notices Bruce's hand coming onto Tony's shoulder and tries not to tense up.

"Was it this Brotherhood?" Steve starts.

"We don't think so. Given what the video hinted at, we think the target of the message was some branch of government, a secret organization of some sort -"

"And the attack on the mansion was that organization's retaliation?" Natasha finishes. Her leader nods.

"Exactly." 

"So, what? Division X still exists?" Tony lifts his head, anger and fire in his eyes. "I mean, who else would be involved in this? And why take the professor?"

"He seemed to know whoever was in charge of this brotherhood. Maybe he means something to him." Clint offers. The man's tense in his chair, more so than before, and it's clearly because of the news about the mansion - the mansion where Coulson still lives, recovering.

"I will take what you've taken from me." Natasha mutters, eyes downcast. "That's the key."

"Betty was with us before she was taken. So is her kidnapping directed at us?" Steve offers.

"I don't know who else it would be directed at." Bruce began to speak. "Since we've been the target of so much else it seems reasonable to think her kidnapping was to target us, too."

"But what did we take?" Steve asks, clearly confused, and frustrated that there was so little that could at the moment be done. "And why would taking Betty right?"

They found no answers; and departed with heavy hearts, preparing for what was to come, for the future that would almost certainly get worse before it got better.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-

It is after Natasha leaves that Pepper is hit with a revelation.

She'd just spent the last two hours lying with her lover, cloaked in worry and fear, discussing what had happened. Pepper finds it hard to believe that the woman she'd spoken to only weeks before was now in the hands of terrorists, and might soon be killed. She wept, and Natasha held her through it, then left for SHIELD headquarters to deal with what would surely be a long night to start a long week.

Pepper was laying in their bed, half dressed, cheeks tear stained, a wreck of a woman still trying to understand what her life had become. Living with heroes, with government spies and soldiers, meant people would be kidnapped and maybe even killed. It is too close to home for her, too like what happened to Tony, and it hurts deep inside in a place few things could rarely touch.

Contemplating it, she comes to the realization which makes her spring out of bed, reaching for her phone. She dials as quickly as she can, and is relieved when Tony answers on the third ring.

"Helllo?" He's slurring, which means he's drinking, which isn't a surprise after a day like today.

"The message - about Betty, it wasn't for us." Pepper insists.

"Okay, slow down, I'm three tumblers into a whiskey and it's been a rough day."

Breathing deep, Pepper starts again.

"Remember when you met with General Ross? He offered you information on Division X for the Hulk?" Pepper, bouncing off the bed, begins to get dressed even as she speaks. "I was talking to Natasha, she told me that even Fury had zilch on the Division. Now, why would an army general know more than the director of a secret ops organization?"

"Uhhhh good luck?"

"He's involved, Tony!" Pepper hops on one foot in an attempt to slid one of her shoes on. "That's the answer! Ross was involved in the division, and this Brotherhood guy took Betty Ross as a message to him, not us! I'll take what you took - the Division took this guy's kid, Tony! And why would they do that?"

"You are doing all the thinking just fine, so I think I'll let you answer that one."

"Think about it! He's got to be a mutant, like his dad - which means Division X is experimenting on kids like we first thought, and they're kidnapping people to do it! Only they took the wrong guy's kid and now he's fighting fire with fire!"

"You got all that out of General Ross's attempt to deal and Betty being kidnapped?" He sounds incredulous, but in awe. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

Grinning, Pepper starts for the door. "I'm on my way over, we've got to tell Fury about -"

"Better yet," She can hear the grin in Tony's voice, "you do that, and I'll go after the General himself and find out exactly how much he knows about all this. Sound good? Sounds good."

Shock startles her into a halt. "Tony, wait -!"

"Ta ta!" Click.

Furious, Pepper shoves her phone into her pocket and races for the door. She should've known better than to tell Tony such a thing and expect him to do the mature thing and wait for back up.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Tony takes the suit - he's not stupid, he's not going to what might be some sort of trap without a little help. But the longer they wait, the more likely things aren't going to go their way, and he's not going to sit by while some government assholes keep Xavier hostage, and some other terrorist jack-offs torment an innocent Betty Ross just because her jackass of a dad did some dickbag things.

He knows where Ross is, he's not hard to find. The house is ostentatious and distant from civilization, out in the desert somewhere. He lands on the driveway and cracks the cement, flipping the mask back before making for the house.

Not bothering to so much as ring the doorbell, he shoves the door open with a well placed punch. The wood shatters, and he steps through its remains. "Oh General Ross!" He sings out. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Glancing around the foyer, he keeps moving. It seems as if the place is empty. "You and I have a lot of talking to do, buddy."

A gun clicks; Tony flips the mask back onto his face in an instant. When he turns, he comes face to face with an absolute stranger - a stranger standing above General Thaddeus Ross's dead body.

"Hello, Tony Stark." The stranger, a thin, tall older woman with dark hair greying at the roots. "It's about time we had a chat."

TBC


	15. Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The identity of Tony's would-be killer is found out, and two new arrivals appear on the doorstep to the Avengers Mansion.

The gym rocks with the echo of their blows as Thor and Steve spar into the early hours of the morning.

It had become their routine, one with which Thor was quite pleased. Friend Steve is the only member of the team besides the Hulk with whom he can safely spar, and as the Hulk does not seem to understand the concept of fighting without actually trying to 'smash', Steve is his only option. Yet, 'only' does not properly indicate how much joy Thor gains from fighting his friend. Even if he could choose to let loose freely with any fighter in the world, Thor would still choose Steve.

Since that fateful day when Steve had first used Mjolnir, they have spent almost every night trading blows in the gym. Tonight, they fight with no weapons save their own fists, and Thor feels his heightened heartbeat rise further at the sight of sweat beading upon Steve's forehead.

Thor has felt attraction for Steve for some time: his teammate is very handsome, with a lean yet muscular figure and bright eyes like stars. But it was not until Steve proved himself worthy of Mjolnir that the attraction expanded and grew into something stronger, almost all-encompassing. Thor feels a need for Steve which thrums beneath his skin, and every time he uses the hammer he remembers the way Steve's slim, smaller hands had gripped the handle tight. He knows now that there is even more to his friend, the Captain America, than he ever imagined, and he wants to discover all of it.

Steve throws a punch which Thor catches, his larger hand enveloping the smaller, and he hears the Captain's breath hitch, and fights a smile. He knows Steve feels attraction for him, as well. If it were not clear in their typical interactions, in the way the man's eyes linger upon him in moments such as these, then the drawing Thor found in Steve's sketch book would have made it clear. There was such affection and passion put into that drawing that Steve could not be anything else but interested.

What Thor does not know is if it is just attraction, or if the Captain might be interested in something more as well.

"Captain," Until JARVIS spoke, the two had been caught in each other's gazes, their eyes alight and the air tense. "Mr. Stark has just left the building with his suit. According to his flight plans, he is approaching General Ross's home."

Thor lets Steve hand go as the man's eyes darken and narrow. "What?" He turns and nods for Thor to follow him, and Thor does all too eagerly. He would follow this man, his Captain, into Hel itself.

\------------------------

Two hours after his impromptu trip out of the mansion, Tony returns home, one thought racing through his head: I know her. I know her.

His brain, which remembers images and visuals as easily as numbers, races through picture after picture trying to recall how he knows her, the woman who had been waiting in General Ross's home, who had shot the man dead before turning on Tony. She was just an old woman with a gun but somehow managed to put the fear of God into Tony Stark. Probably because she knew exactly what to target, where his weaknesses were. Don't think about that now!

For a moment he thinks of Xavier but violently thrusts the thought away, focuses on the work, on remembering who she is so he can find her, stop her, and protect the people he cares about.

He lands on the roof and is about to stalk into the mansion and his lab, when he happens to look up and see seven figures standing in his way. The whole team, plus Pepper and Rhodey, ready to give him a good reaming, and another time he might make some kind of sex joke but today he's not feeling it.

"Hi, guys," He grunts, face mask lifting, feeling the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He didn't drink enough tonight; after meeting her, he needs to drink even more. His head throbs with consciousness and awareness and he craves that dull, unknowing emptiness so much. "We having a meeting? I miss a memo or something?"

Steve, arms crossed and standing in the front, glaring at Tony, does not seem to find his tired humor funny. Not that that's a surprise or anything.

"Tony, where have you been?"

He gives half a shrug, trying to look nonchalant but too tired and, honestly, disturbed to put much effort into it. "Oh, y'know - business stuff. Meeting people." He starts to move forward and try to go around the team.

"Like Ross?"

That was Bruce's voice - Tony turns, meets the eyes of the man he loves which are currently speckled green, and something, some shield inside him, shatters.

"He's dead." Tony whispers. "Ross. He's dead." He'll never hurt you again, Tony wants to say. No one will ever hurt you again I promise. But he can't promise that - especially not when Tony is so skilled at hurting people himself.

"Ross is dead? Tony, what happened?" Steve starts forward and Tony can't help but flinch.

"I didn't kill him!"

"I know you didn't, so tell me what happened?" That startles the inventor. No one takes him at his word, everyone believes the worst of him.

"Cap, you okay? You look a bit peaky." He puts a metal gloved hand on the man's sweaty forehead. "You must be sick because you're being nice to me, that's out of character."

"And you're being evasive, which is completely in character, and if you keep it up we'll be up here all night." Steve glares, and Tony tries to stare him down, but he finds that half-drunk and exhausted he can't match up with the patented Stare of American Justice.

"Alright, fine, but can we do this inside? I'm so sweaty I'm gonna stick to the suit like glue if I'm in it any longer."

\--------------------------

They gather in one of the meeting rooms thirty minutes later, with Tony showered, fed, and coddled by both Pepper and Bruce, who've been hovering around him like helicopters since this started. Rhodey would've been doing the same, but he's been dealing with the military, informing them of what happened to Ross.

So Tony sits at the end of the table, drumming his fingers, eyes averted and thoughts drifting. Everyone is waiting for him to start - but he doesn't know how to share this. He's so... unsettled.

"Come on, Tony, out with it." Rhodey insists, and it is his oldest friend's voice that finally draws him out of this funk, this state of emptiness that's almost, maybe, not quite shock.

"By the time I arrived she had already killed him." He begins, voice even and unaffected. "Older woman, thin, tall, secretary type, down to business and serious as hell, almost like Fury." That was the perfect time for a joke, a great set up. He didn't take it. "I was in the suit and could've blown her away but she hardly even noticed. Didn't care. All she had was a gun but she spoke like she had the advantage the whole time."

\------------------------

"Back out now, Stark." The woman had said. "It's not too late. This man targeting you is your worst nightmare. You won't beat him. My people can - and will - take him down. But back out. Cease prying into the past and let us do our jobs." She was thin and frail like a scarecrow but had such strength of will behind her eyes he almost felt intimidated - this old lady, all of five foot five, had a presence and a voice which filled the room.

"No, that's not how this works." Tony replied sharply. "This is the part where I start asking you questions and you start giving me answers, or I do something I might regret. Maybe. A little bit."

She'd just laughed. "Mr. Stark, you have no idea. You have stepped a war that outmatches your old stomping grounds for potential and power. When this conflict ignites and the flames start to rise, you'll be burnt beyond anything you can imagine. You'll lose everything." Head rising, a dark glint in her eyes, she smirked. "Kill me. He's still coming for you. I'm the only one who can stop him - you, your Avengers, SHIELD, they know nothing. He'll tear them apart."

"Why?" Infuriated to be spoken to with such condescension, Tony felt his ire rise. "What the hell does he want with me?"

"Oh it's not about you, but what you represent." The woman's smirk turned vicious before she turned on her foot and made to leave through the back door. "I've warned you, Mr. Stark. What you do now does not concern me."

No, this is his first lead in so long, he's not just going to let her saunter away. He lifts his hand and prepares the repulsor, but she keeps walking, doesn't even flinch at the noise. So he raises it higher, aiming to fire at the ceiling and block her exit - BAM. Gunfire, a bullet hits his armor and it's enough to screw up his aim. He fires at the ceiling closer to him and the house comes down on him. By the time he digs his way out, she's gone.

\-----------------------

"No trace." Tony spits out, hand curling in tightly. "Not a single sign of where she was or had gone." And I still feel like I know her somehow.

"Great." Clint snorts. "We're no better off than we were before."

"That's all right." Steve begins to placate the group, who as a whole seem to feel rather the way Clint does. Tony doesn't blame them - he's pissed himself, wishing he'd found a way to detain her, to learn something, anything - where does he know that face dammit?

"What now?" Pepper is wringing her hands on the table, and every other second she's looking at Tony like he might keel over any moment. This is why they broke up, he remembers suddenly. Because megalomaniacs love using him as a punching bag and she shouldn't have to deal with that. Yet, here she is, still dealing.

"We need to go back to Xavier's mansion." Natasha offers. "Division X took the Professor and his people which clearly means they knew something or are at least still important somehow. If they -"

"That's it." Tony's breathless with realization as all the heads in the room turn to him. Before any of them can ask what's going on, he's got his cell phone out and is making a call.

\-----------------------

Phil Coulson has grown very tired of the television.

He's been confined to bed rest for almost three weeks now, and has seen more of daytime soaps than's he's ever wanted to see. Some days he's tried reading but it still strains his eyes, makes spots appear in his vision, and since the doctors still aren't quite sure what was really done to him he doesn't want to risk it. He'd rather be bored than inadvertently injure himself.

For the moment, at least, he's not bored, because he is contemplating how to phrase a question. His current babysitter is Logan, one of Xavier's people. The Avengers have come to (mostly) trust the X-Men, as they're called, and have started allowing them to watch over Coulson some days, though those days are very rare. The Avengers are protective of their own people. Coulson feels his cheeks flush. To think he is considered one of them.

But his guard is the person he is trying to speak to. Coulson is an average reasoner, he thinks. He doesn't make leaps of logic like Tony, but two plus two still equals four to him. The face of the man he's staring at is exactly the same, so there has to at least be a familial connection or something.

"You ever gonna stop starin'?" Logan's rough voice interrupts his thoughts, and Coulson decides to take the opening and go for it.

"Do you, by any chance, have some relation to the Howling Commandos?"

Logan glances at him, eyes half lidded, before turning back to the TV and taking a sip of his beer. "What's it to you?"

"I do happen to be a fan, but that's not why I'm asking." He takes a breath. "Does Steve know?"

Grunting, Logan slides lower in the chair, takes another sip. He's quiet for a minute. "Didn't recognize me."

Coulson hasn't known Logan all that long but he thinks that maybe there's a hint of hurt in that brutish voice. "It's not like he's expecting to meet an old friend from seventy years ago in the present day, looking as young as ever." What an amazing - and terrible - mutation that must be. Is it simply a longer life? Or immortal life? Neither one seems good to Coulson. Logan doesn't seem to be listening so he keeps going. "It's been hard on him. Losing everyone and everything so fast. Knowing that somebody from the past was still around would probably help him a lot."

Logan grunts again, but there's a thoughtful look in his eye. Coulson smiles, and then he hears his phone ring.

\---------------------

"Hey, Phil, buddy, can you do me a huge favor?" Tony leans back in the chair, eyes bright like normal again, and Bruce finds his gaze riveted to him. He's like the sun, and Bruce is a planet trapped in his gravity. A grin comes across his handsome face and only years of training keeps Bruce's heartbeat from racing. "Yes, I realize you are currently an invalid, but this is an important mission soldier, so get your butt to Xavier's office."

Pepper is making a confused face - Bruce probably looks the same way - and Steve's brow is furrowed. Thor, meanwhile, is staring at Steve's furrowed brow like he might want to eat chocolate sauce off of it. Suddenly Bruce wonders when he started thinking like Tony.

"Okay, that's the one. And the back?" Tony's finishing up his conversation with Phil and is about to hang up the phone. "Thanks a lot buddy, I'll buy you another pair of Captain America jammies tout-suite, kay?" He hangs up but not before Bruce hears an embarrassed squawk through the phone, and Steve's face turns red.

Tony messes with his phone. "There you go - JARVIS, fire it up."

The screen nearby flares to life, and an old photograph appears upon it. Six or seven people posing together in front of what is clearly Xavier's mansion, years ago.

"Damn. Dude used to have some hair." Whistling, Clint motions to the man in the middle, with a bright smile and thick hair, who appears to be Xavier from forty years ago.

"That's her." Tony is being strangely serious; Bruce looks away from the picture to look at the man's eyes, dark and heavy with purpose. "The woman next to Xavier. And according to the back of the picture..." Tony waves his hand and the image flips, revealing the white back with ink scrawled across it. "Her name is Moira McTaggert." Then he waves his hand again, and the picture flips once more.

She's an stunning figure - tall, dark eyes, a thin smile, somewhat aloof in how she holds herself from the group. Bruce recognizes that posture, the poise of one who doesn't quite belong. She's leaning into Xavier, and from the way her hand is touching his shoulder when she's not touching anyone else, he thinks they must've been something... or at least, she cared for him.

"This is from Xavier's office?" Natasha asks for clarification and Tony nods.

"I remembered her from somewhere. It's definitely that woman, she's the same, cept skinnier, shorter, and with grey hair."

"Hey, least she kept her hair." Clint jokes again, and for half a second Bruce wonders about all the jokes, before he realizes Clint has taken on Tony's usual job. He's trying to keep the mood light. They've come a long way as a team if they're able to read each other's moods and react accordingly. Bruce meets Steve's eyes and the Captain seems to have made the same realization, and a burst of pride rises in his chest. Behind that pride, he thinks he hears the Hulk, quietly rumbling.

"This is the original... 'Division X'?" Thor starts, leaning into the table.

"Yup." Tony states. "The group that worked together in the sixties."

"Then our third adversary must be in this photo as well."

The room goes quiet - then Tony smacks the table. "Thor, you're a damned genius. Okay, so the group split and we got Xavier and his people - JARVIS, take out Xavier and anybody who was at his mansion."

The younger Xavier disappears, along with the younger Hank McCoy and a few others who currently live at Xavier's mansion.

"There's only two left." Steve stands, moving around the table towards the picture. "Moira, and -"

Tony's hand waves, the image flips, and they connect the person with the name.

"Erik Lensherr."

The picture flips back around - Erik Lensherr is a tall, foreboding man with broad shoulders and a rough, almost predatory smile.

"That's our guy." Pepper's voice shakes as she speaks, and Natasha reaches out to take her hand and grasp it tight. "The one trying to kill Tony."

Bruce feels the Hulk come to life inside him, but he doesn't try to burst free; merely grips the arms of his chair so tight they start to bend. He glances down the table to Tony, who is eyeing the picture like it's a puzzle for him to solve, eyes narrowed and looking so haggard, so tired but Bruce knows he won't let himself rest, not yet.

They need to find this guy. The sooner they do, the sooner Tony will finally be safe.

\-----------------------

It's as Bruce is headed towards the lab where Tony is that he is way-laid by one James Rhodes.

"You and I are long overdue for a chat." The man starts, hands on his hips. He sounds and looks very angry, and Bruce immediately clamps down on the natural, instinctive response to rise to his ire.

"You mean about Tony."

"That's right." He crosses his arms, stares Bruce down in a way so challenging that he feels the Hulk roaring in retaliation, has to remind himself that this is Tony's best friend, that obviously the man cares about Tony to be doing this at all. "I want to know what you're intentions are here."

"Intentions?" He almost laughs, because this is too much like a friend interrogating their friend's newest lover. "I'm not sure I follow."

Rhodes is quiet for a minute, his eyes never leaving Bruce's face. "Do you know how long it took Tony to open up to me about - about anything?"

Bruce stumbles over his tongue. "Uhm..." Where is this going?"

"We met as kids, but it would take until we were adults for him to really trust me enough to talk to me. And Pepper? She worked for him for almost half a decade before they became as close as they are now." Rhodes is really passionate as he speaks, voice rising, gesturing madly with his hands. "The only other friends Tony has, he built himself. Except you."

Okay, maybe he sees where this is going.

"He's known you, what? Five months now?" Rhodes asks. "And he's invited you to move in with him. He jokes with you, lets you see him drunk and see him injured and to be honest I'm starting to think he's more open with you than he is with me, nowadays." The man huffs and crosses his arms again. "Five months. If this were the old Tony I'd call it scientific curiosity and a death wish but he genuinely cares about you, and he's not that guy anymore."

"So you want to know what my intentions are?"

"I want to know if you're sticking around - or if you might hop on a plane heading overseas anytime soon." Rhodes begins, and that line of thought surprises Bruce. He'd been expecting something more along the lines of 'will the Hulk smash him', not this. "Or... well, you're a scientist. Maybe you're the one hanging around because of scientific curiosity."

That actually causes a rumble of anger and he thinks his eyes must've flashed green, because Rhodes stiffens a bit. "No. I would never use him like that."

The stiffness fades, and Rhodes shrugs. "It's happened before."

Those three words - it's happened before - ring through his head and they really test his control as he realizes the implications. "Who -?"

"Not my story to tell." Rhodes holds his hands up. "I just want to be sure this isn't a repeat performance. Not only does Tony really like you, but he trusts you, and I don't think you have any idea how rare that is for him."

"I'm starting to." Clenching his fists, Bruce fights the urge to throw Rhodes aside and rush to Tony, to ensure the man's okay and to smash whoever hurt him in the past.

Giving a curt nod, Rhodes starts again. "Good." They are both quiet for a moment, perhaps because they've realized they're on the same side and that taking care of Tony is a priority they share. "I can't stay any longer, I'm heading back to base in the morning. Much as I want to stay, after everything that's happened..."

Bruce knows what he's trying to circle around to. "I'll take care of him." He swears it, and the Hulk lingers in the back of his mind agreeing vehemently with the sentiment. "No one, not Erik Lensherr or anybody else, will hurt him while we're around."

If Rhodes notices the 'we', he doesn't indicate it. But inside Bruce, Hulk roars in triumph.

\----------------------

The world fades, thoughts dissipate, and Tony floats in emptiness.

Sometimes Moira's face, or the name 'Erik' floats through the darkness and he shoves them aside, tries to forget them. He remembers the suit freezing up and almost killing Clint, remembers his experiment exploding and his house coming down on top of him and Bruce, feels a bone-chilling terror he can't push aside. He drinks more.

Tony can't remember how many he's had, or what exactly he drank, but it's not enough. He can still feel his skin crawling, see the old photograph of Lensherr's face, haunting and dark, brutal in its ferocity. He won't admit it to anyone but he is terrified. There's an enemy coming who's already proven very dangerous, with powers he doesn't even know about, who wants to kill him and maybe his team, too. Tony is scared witless: scared he'll fail; that he'll lose the team; that he'll lose his life; that he'll lose Bruce.

"Tony?"

Now he's imagining things. Or maybe not - Bruce's face, blurry and faded, appears in his line of sight, and it could be real or a drink-addled dream.

"Hey," Tony mumbles. "Hey. Hey, Bruce. Y'wanna stay with me, here, forever n' ever?"

"What? ... Tony how much did you drink?"

"Yup, is real." In his dreams, Bruce would've smiled and said yes. "G'way Bruce." Don't see me like this. Don't hate me for this.

Hands are moving him up, through the air, and for a minute he blacks out and comes to in bed. Bruce's face floats above him, lined with worry, and Tony feels himself ache in response. A trembling hand reaches out and takes Bruce's, grips it as tight as he can.

"Dun worry." Bruce just looks more worried at that. "Really, dun worry. I - I'll figure it out, always do. Gunna... save Betty, promise."

"Tony, that's not -"

"She'll be okay, n' you'll be okay, n' then you'll be happy." Tony feels the darkness closing in, his hand loosen's its hold. "At least one of us should be happy."

\---------------------

Steve sits in the living room on the main floor the next morning, a cup of coffee at his elbow and his sketch pad in his lap. The morning light trickles through the window and gives him plenty to work by, and a breeze is wafting in through the open front door. It's relaxing him, which is something of a miracle since he's been tense since this whole terrorist mess started. With a sigh, Steve tries to let the last remnants of his stress fade away and focuses on his art.

He knows he'll have to work again soon, that they have a lot to do, but he also knows he'll be no good to anyone if he's torn up and tied in knots over this whole thing. He used to try and repress and hold it back, like Stark, but he's seen what that does to people, in the war. So, he uses art to try and release his fears in a healthy way.

The picture is from memory, which means its not very good because he always does better with a model. It's Thor, of course; the last ten pages of his book have been Thor. He hopes the Asgardian never finds this book, or else he might have some awkward explanations to give.

This picture is of Thor in battle, armor donned and hammer lifted to the sky. He's alway so majestic, thrumming with power and energy. A little thrill of passion jolts Steve at the thought of all that potency directed towards him. He doesn't give in to mature thoughts too often, but he is an adult and he does have urges, whatever Stark will joke about his 'naivety'. He doesn't think about Thor that way often - he thinks it's somewhat rude to imagine his teammates that way, without them knowing.

To be honest, he's considered telling Thor recently. Their interactions have been almost heated of late: their conversations seemingly suggestive, their spars almost intimate in nature. But Thor is from a different culture and another world, and Steve's seventy years behind this world anyway. He might be making something out of nothing - but deep down, he really hopes it's true.

The doorbell rings, and Steve's head shoots up, eyebrows lifting in surprise. It rings a second time before he sets his things aside and heads for the door.

Two young women are standing on the doorstep to the mansion, both with big grins. The shorter one with dark, full hair, beams up at him.

"Dude, it's Captain America!" She grins and elbows the woman next to her, while her gaze travels all over and Steve feels his cheeks heat up. "Wow, you are all kinds of wholesome goodness."

"Darcy!"

The one called Darcy grins, then holds out her hand. "Hi, nice to meet you. This is Jane, I'm Darcy, you wouldn't happen to have any Thunder Gods lying around would you?"

He doesn't ever get the chance to respond. A booming shout fills the room and Steve spins; Thor is standing there with his face lit up like a kid on Christmas day, and he's running towards them in an instant. "Jane!"

She laughs and runs to meet him, and they collide in the center of the hall, limbs flying around one another as Thor picks her off her feet. Steve watches their reunion with stunned eyes, and his heart warms to see Thor's happiness. Until the thunderer leans back, levels the woman with a heated stare, and then their lips meet in a passionate kiss.

The world falls out from under Steve's feet and it's like all the air, the light, the peace he'd attained just minutes earlier had been vaporized. His infant hopes were crushed and his heart shattered in one fell swoop, and he didn't even notice when his sketchpad fell from his numb fingers.

Darcy noticed - she watched it, saw it fall open upon the very first drawing of Thor Steve ever made, the one of him sleeping in Steve's bed. Her gaze lifts and she sees the devastation on the Captain's face, and she knows. She recognizes the look. It's one she's had upon her face many times, around Jane.

Steve leaves without picking up the pad, and Thor and Jane don't notice. Darcy quickly stoops down and scoops it up, stuffing it into her backpack. When the lovebirds break apart she's all smiles and laughter, and she really is happy to see Thor again. She just wishes her heart would stop aching whenever she sees them together.


	16. Conflicts and Collisions

When she hears the door to the room opening, Betty leaps to her feet. She's prepared to run, if she can, or to defend herself if she has to. Fear has her heart pounding. The door opens just wide enough for someone to step through, then falls shut, leaving her alone with her captor.

He's an older man, late fifties or sixties, at least a foot taller than her. He's intimidating - a man old enough to be her grandfather, but his eyes are hard, his demeanor threatening, and she's not inclined to believe he means her well.

A little smile appears on his face as he approaches and sits across from her. "Well done, Ms. Ross." He begins. "Your performance today was heartbreaking." She wants to scream, to pound his face in, but she sits back down very stiffly and tries not to move. She avoids his eyes, but can't escape his voice, a rough and commanding tone. "I'm sure your father will appreciate it."

"What do you want from my father?"

His smile grows into a smirk. "And here I thought you'd sit silently trembling all day."

"Screw you."

At that he laughs, bright and jovial, and she wants to hit him even more.

"Like many of my targets, General Ross is merely a means to an end - a stepping stone." The man leans forward, elbows on his knees, stooping a bit low but still somehow managing to be intimidating. "Towards a larger goal."

"And what's that?" Frankly, Betty's shocked her voice isn't shaking. But this is a chance to learn something, and if she can escape and get to the Avengers, she might be able to stop this psycho. Betty forces herself to meet the man's eyes and tries not to tremble at the sight of them. They're hard as stone.

For a minute, he's quiet, just watching her, and Betty makes her gaze remain even upon his. He must find something he approves of in her eyes, because he nods and then stands. As he speaks he begins to pace.

"War is on its way, Ms. Ross, and it's a war I intend to win."

"War?" Confusion colors her voice. "What war?"

"Between humanity," He continues, stepping over to the bar in the corner of the room. It's a nice room, considering - almost plush, and nothing like a prison cell. The man begins pouring himself a drink. "And the other."

She's still confused, but remains quiet, because it seems like he's talking under his own steam. He doesn't need anymore prompting. He pours the drink and takes a sip, letting out a refreshed sigh, before he turns back to her.

"Five months ago an alien race tried to invade Earth, and a team of supermen took them down. That day, humanity's naivety and innocence was destroyed." He takes another sip. As he speaks, he gestures with his free hand, speaking almost as if this is a speech, a passionate discourse. "There are things bigger than us in this universe, they realized - even on this Earth."

He finishes the drink, and then sets the glass on a nightstand as he walks towards her. "Your kind is scared, Ms. Ross. They fear the unknown, the powerful. Right now, all that's keeping them from falling prey to terror and panic is the fact that their beloved Avengers are here to save the day."

"But someday soon another revelation is going to occur. It's already happening. Children born with strange powers, unexplained occurrences - mutants. My kind." Betty has no idea what a mutant is, never heard of one. Unsure and perplexed and terrified, she remains fixed in her chair, eyes stuck on the magnetic figure speaking to her.

"When the existence of mutants becomes widely known, humanity will be outraged. There must be laws, regulations, safeguards, they'll insist upon it - and then there will be disappearances, arrests, prison camps. Aliens may be what they fear right now, but mutants shall be next. And when that happens, they'll look to their precious Avengers to protect them."

Betty doesn't understand. She doesn't have all the data, she's only working with half the facts. Mutants? Was this what the experiments from the 1960's created? Was this man the fruit of some government project?

"So, what? You're going to try and kill the Avengers?" She snorts. "I really doubt that'll happen."

"Killing them isn't the plan - killing them makes them martyrs, gives fuel to the idea that mutants are dangerous." He sits down across from her again. "No, better to have them destroy themselves. Ruin their image, turn the symbol of hope into an image of human failure and tragedy."

Eyes narrowing, Betty feels her heart skip a beat. "How? You - you can't."

He smirks and it's all malice and dark intent. "It's already begun. No one will be surprised when Tony Stark begins a downward spiral - or when the Hulk loses control, and kills him."

Betty goes white, terror seizing her, and the man named Erik Lensherr starts to laugh.

\---------------------------

Jane Foster is not so good at meeting new people.

What she is good at is sticking her foot in her mouth, and stumbling all over herself trying to make a good impression. Thor finds it endearing, she knows, and he's commented on the 'pleasing flush of her cheeks' more than once. But while that's all well and good, she really wishes she could have more composure in situations such as these.

Granted, she thinks, I never imagined I'd be dating a God and being introduced to all his super hero friends.

She is actually in the same room as people like Bruce Banner and Tony Stark, arguably some of the greatest scientific minds of the decade, or the century even. Jane is giddy with the knowledge, which is making her hands tremble and her mouth screw up what she's trying to say.

"You're honored to meet me - I mean, I'm meeting to honor - uh -"

"Yes, I am." Tony Stark is grinning at her as they shake hands. "Where did you find this girl, Thor? She's fantastic. I want one."

Pepper Potts, somewhere across the room, gives a call of, "No, Tony," and the man groans, prompting laughter from some of the others, and how is this her life?

Darcy, somehow, is keeping her cool as she's being introduced to secret government assassins and one of the world's richest billionaires. She's as funny and chipper as usual and Jane is vaguely jealous. But only a little.

A large hand touches the small of her back. "Fret not, Jane." Thor whispers into her ear. "If they are any kind of worthy friends - which I believe they are - they shall see the same worthiness in you which I saw so easily when first we met."

"Wow," She chuckles to keep from turning and leaping on the man and kissing him in front of all these people. "You sure know how to make a girl feel good."

The hand on her back drifts lower. "I should hope so."

Giggling, Jane gives into the urge, turns and pecks him on the cheek, and is pleased at the smile which blooms across his face. But her eyes can't help looking past him to the figure staring at them. For half a second she has a little freak out as she realizes she's looking at the one and only Captain America, before she realizes the man looks terrible. He's staring towards them as if they just shot his dog, but when he meets her eyes the look fades and a tired smile takes its place. Then he's turning and leaving, just like that.

What was that? Confused, Jane's brow furrows, and she makes to ask Thor what's going on when she looks to see he seems just as confused. He's watching the Captain leave with a wounded look.

"Is he upset with you?"

"I did not think so." Thor frowns, then turns to look down at her. She gives her best reassuring smile, and his distress seems to fade, at least for now.

\------------------------

Fury hears of the attack sometime after midnight, and feels a twinge of remorse. He knows that tonight is the first night that Jane Foster and Thor have been reunited in some time, after weeks of arguing and cajoling their way through the military/government power structure. He doesn't like the fact that they had essentially been prisoners for months, without his knowledge, when his info had said they were safely home.

On top of that was Coulson - his agent, his friend, kept from him by some of the most secretive and powerful members of the government. Very little was above Fury's pay grade. But the World Security Council had told him to stay out, and he'd had no other choice. He's thrilled as hell that the Avengers found him - the Council could try and order them to give him back but they wouldn't get far.

He storms through the helicarrier towards the bridge, only to arrive and find someone already there - an older woman in a suit standing with her hands behind her back. Standing in his spot.

"May I help you?"

She turns to face him, the picture of indifference. "I understand you just received a distress signal."

"Yes. And you are?"

She ignores him." You are to ignore it."

"Uh huh." Arms crossed, Fury fights to keep his voice even. "Well, I'm not inclined to take orders from nameless strangers who just appear unauthorized on my ship."

That prompts her to flip open a wallet and reveal her badge. "Agent McTaggert, Division X." The badge vanishes. "My authorization is none of your concern."

"Never heard of 'Division X'." Well, he has, thanks to the Avengers, but that's not on any official document. Since what happened with Coulson, Fury is less than inclined to trust his fellow government officials. He's not about to reveal how much he - and subsequently the Avengers - really know.

"Good. That means I've done my job." She crosses her arms, glare stern. "Now call off your attack dogs."

How about that. She thinks he's already called for the Avengers. He can use that.

\------------------------

Tony Stark refuses to drink ever, ever, ever again.

"Sir, the statistical likelihood of you keeping true to such a statement without -"

"Oh god, now I"m going it when I'm sober." Interrupting JARVIS, Tony stands and approaches the coffee pot. His head is pounding and he feels like his eyes have been stabbed with shards of glass.

So, apparently not only is he a weepy drunk nowadays, but he also has a runaway mouth when he's drinking - at least, that's the most he could get out of Bruce, before his friend bolted. The other scientist has been avoiding him all day, since that conversation, and the idea that he'd finally scared off Bruce for good has been dogging his thoughts and terrifying him for hours. It would hardly a surprise - he is honestly amazed Bruce had put up with his shit for so long.

Morose, heavy with the burden of his thoughts, Tony pours his fourth coffee and shoves his disappointment to the back of his mind. He's got too much shit to do to mope around like a teenager. It's then that his phone rings.

"God, man, I understand you put the Avengers together to be your clean-up crew, but do you think you could keep the house clean a little longer? I'm tired of mopping up the helicarrier."

"Stark," Fury's voice is strong, unyielding. "You are to stand down."

Tony blinks. "Come again?"

"Under no circumstances are the Avengers to assemble and assist the Research Base currently being attacked." Pointed pause. "By order of Division X."

Realization dawns, and Tony stands, gesturing to the ceiling. He didn't need to - JARVIS was already pulling up the location of the building. "Sure thing, chief." He hangs up. "Call the kiddies, JARVIS, it's time to play."

\-------------------------

"So, what's the story, Cap?"

Steve looks up at Clint addressing him. For a minute he'd allowed himself to be preoccupied with his own problems. That can't happen. Right now, Steve doesn't matter. It's Captain America everybody needs.

"Forty-seven minutes ago, the Research Base was attacked by some old friends of ours." Behind him, JARVIS brought up their images on the computer screen, revealing Emma Frost and Azazel.

"Hellboy and Ice Queen strike again." Tony interjects.

"Fury gave some rather... roundabout orders to investigate." The Captain continues. "We have reason to believe Division X is involved; so, the five of us are going to investigate."

"Where is Natasha, by the way?" Bruce, who is in the process of removing as much clothing as he can without becoming indecent, asks.

"She's got a mission of her own." Standing, Steve begins strapping his shield to his back. "We'll have to make due without her."

\------------------------

For the second time, Natasha Romanov approaches Xavier's mansion; but this time, they let her through the front door.

"Miss me?" She asks Wolverine as she saunters past him, and he grunts.

"Like a rash on my ass."

She allows a subtle smirk to appear on her face. She likes Logan. He's distrustful, rough-edged, and constantly on alert. People like the Professor and his overly righteous protege Scott Summers mean well, but when it comes down to it, they're fighting a war. In war, ethics and good will get tossed out the window and survival is all that matters. Natasha is sure Logan knows that, and if worse comes to worse, he'll protect the kids however he can.

"What happened?"

They walk together through the mansion. Logan looks angrier and stiffer than usual. "Feds attacked two days ago, when most of the older folks were out." Undoubtedly a move which was planned - which means the government has a keener eye on the mansion than was previously thought. "Got the Professor, Beast, Havoc, and Banshee, didn't even have to fight 'em to do it - and that's not like Beast or Havoc."

"They must have some way of shutting you down." She thinks aloud. "Some kind of tranquilizer or neutralizer perhaps."

He grunts. "However they did it, they're gonna pay for it."

"First things first," She starts. "We have to figure out what they're hiding."

Natasha follows Logan up the stairs, and Logan begins speaking again. "Don't know how much use this trip'll be to ya. The Professor didn't talk much about the old days, and we already checked his records. Wiped clean."

She smirks. This an outcome she has already anticipated. For Division X to be so prepared as to attack when the mansion was most vulnerable, armed with devices which, in some way, disarmed the mutants, then surely they would have gotten rid of any information that they might be able to make use of.

At least, the traditional information.

"I'll need to start with his bedroom." She begins. Logan cocks an eyebrow, looks at her with an expression that is furrowed and furious - Wolverine for 'confusion'. He's not so hard to read. "They took Professor X, and all his information. But they didn't account for the man, Charles Xavier. Division X was a part of his life. He had to have kept something personal." At least, a man like Xavier would. He was too sentimental not to.

Logan seems to accept her logic and nods. "All right. We'll head there first. One-eye can stew in his juices for a bit."

Natasha fights the urge to grin. She knew she liked Logan for a reason.

\---------------------------

Charles Xavier's bedroom is not what Natasha expects.

She assumed the room would match the man. Xavier is warm-hearted, passionate, and introspective. Natasha imagined a room full of pictures of family, friends, lovers, and students; a room with his academic achievements lining the walls; with lots of books and keepsakes marking the great events of his life. She finds none of this. The room Logan leads her to is spartan, grey and uniform, and lacks all the life of Charles Xavier.

Against the right wall is a bed, lined with a set of rails, presumably to allow Xavier to comfortably pull himself in and out of bed. Beside the bed is a small night stand, with only a lamp resting atop it. A dresser is against the far wall, with a television sitting on top, and the one decoration - a linen doily - between the TV and the top of the furniture.

Natasha slips into the room, glancing around with discerning eyes. "Anyone other than the Professor come in here often?"

Logan, at the door, answers in the negative. "He's disabled, but he's not helpless. Takes care of himself, and if he needs help he's got the psychic hot line to call somebody."

"Who would he would call?"

"Hank McCoy probably." Logan nods. "Yeah. They go way back."

Natasha absorbs the information and keeps looking round. There's a bathroom door, partially open; she turns and enters. The counter is lined with pill bottles and cleaning supplies; another railing lines the wall beneath the towel rack, and a shower bench sits in the bathtub. She opens drawers, shuffles through them, finds neatly folded towels, dental supplies, cleaning products, but nothing truly personal. Standing, Natasha returns it to the way it was, leaves the bathroom, and heads for the dresser.

"What're you lookin' for exactly?" Logan has moved into the room, and stands in the center watching her with arms crossed.

"The government thinks in official capacities - in professional terms." Natasha starts opening drawers. "They deleted official records, cleansed Xavier's professional life." She reaches the third drawer, and her hand hits something hard that feels nothing like a pair of pajamas. "But I don't think they thought to clean out his personal life." Smirking, she removes from the drawer a leather bound journal.

"What, like a diary?"

"Xavier's the inward thinking, sentimental type." It seemed he would have some way of winding down after working with a frustrating and variant group of adults and children, all of whom turned to him for guidance. He couldn't internalize all that and come out as level headed as he is.

Natasha flips to the first page. "Let's hope you shared some useful secrets, Mr. Xavier," She mutters as she begins to read.

\--------------------------

When they land the plane a few miles from the base, the team can already tell it's on fire.

"Well," Clint snarks as he steps down to the ground. "This is gonna be fun. Right? Who thinks this is gonna be fun?"

The replies are nonexistent. Steve storms out of the plane like it offended him, and Thor follows with slumped shoulders, looking as if someone just told him the mansion was out of pop tarts. Bruce and Tony, who are usually shoulder to shoulder and buddy-buddy from the get go, are acting strangely stiff around each other, and avoiding each other's eyes. Every so often, Tony will look at Bruce with a wounded look and gnaw at his lip, looking away as soon as Bruce looks up; and Bruce watches Tony stalk into the woods with lost eyes, like he's unsure he'll ever be happy again.

It's a soap opera, and Clint is in the dead center of it, and he forgot his popcorn. Natasha would kill to be here. "Dammit," Clint realizes a second later, watching his mopey teammates take to the woods. "I'm gonna have to fix this, aren't I?"

Yup. Because his teammates are children, and for once Clint is acting like the most mature person in the general area. It's a damned miracle.


	17. Culture Clash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Steve have a misunderstanding, while Bruce and Tony talk it out.

The "research base" is a CIA facility built in the 1960's; the original, having been found by the enemy and destroyed in 1962, was demolished and relocated to an isolated part of southern California.

Azazel looks out over the base, remembering fondly his hand in the original's destruction decades earlier. He can no longer pull the same tricks he did then, teleporting fifty or sixty times in a row to varying altitudes. But that's all right - he's still pretty handy in a fight.

Emma is with him. Next to the boss himself, she is undoubtedly the team's heavy hitter. One punch of her diamond fist and they were in the CIA building, no problem. From there, her physical strength combined with psychic ability made swift work of America's goons. Azazel let her do her thing, and started to search the base, teleporting from room to room, looking for their target. "No good so far," He thinks towards Emma, "Boss isn't gonna be happy,"

She ignores him, keeps fighting, and he continues to search. Jumping from lab to lab, he examines each entrapped mutant with pity and anger.

"Forgive me, little ones," He mutters. "But we cannot save you all tonight."

\---------------------------

Bruce is strangely used to being naked in public, around other people. It's just another part of his life that Hulk has changed; and while in the past he had considered it uncomfortable, or a mild inconvenience, nowadays he could see a little of the humor in it. That he can examine part of his identity, part of the reality of being the Hulk with humor, is all Tony Stark's doing.

Tony, who is currently impersonating a sullen teenage boy, and hasn't spoken to Bruce since they landed.

For a moment Bruce wonders if he was in the right to tell Tony what he'd inadvertently shared the night before. He'd thought Stark should know what he'd said - that Bruce had been let in on this... this ache of Tony's, that Bruce could maybe share it with him. That was the plan, at least. Only, an hour or so later, and Bruce was knee-deep in insecurities and fears. Why was Tony so invested in his happiness? Why did he care? Their relationship could only end in tragedy and disaster.

At least one of us should be happy...

The words replay through his mind without end, and he still can't decide how to react. There's a thousand complexities in the statement that beg his attention. The fact that Stark is admitting he's not happy. That he cares that Bruce be happy. That he values Bruce's happiness over his own. It's too much, so much feeling wrapped up in such vulnerability, Bruce can't begin to imagine how to approach it, let alone how to talk to Tony about it. So he's withdrawn, and that seems to be backfiring, because Tony seems to be taking it as some form of rejection, and he doesn't take rejection well.

But Bruce has no idea how to fix it. What if he just makes it worse?

Make it through the mission, he tells himself. Focus on helping people, and sort yourself out later.

They come to the outskirts of the base to find it already in chaos. Alarms blaring, smoke rising, with the sounds of combat echoing all around. The Hulk's presence vibrates in Bruce's chest, itching to come out, but he doesn't push. It's strangely sedate for the other guy.

"What's the plan, Cap?" Tony speaks for the first time since they left the plane, and his voice sounds almost haggard. A stab of guilt strikes Bruce in the chest.

"Attacking them head on last time didn't fare so well," Steve starts to admit.

"I don't think we need to attack them at all." Clint jumps into the conversation, kneeling beside a tree stump, his bow drawn and resting on his legs. The Captain looks appalled at his suggestion. "Hear me out! We didn't do much against them with six to two, now we're down one. I don't think we can take them."

When he replies, Steve's voice is almost comically high pitched. "There are people in there, we can't just -"

"Whoa, whoa," Clint, holding up a hand, interjects. "Calm your jets, buddy. I'm not saying abandon those people, I just don't think trying to take down the wonder twins should be our primary goal. What do we gain from it? If we can't beat them, all we get is sore asses and no more info than we already had." Makes sense to Bruce. It seems to calm Cap down, too. "So, we focus on info gathering. I can sneak in and around pretty easy, check out a few more reclusive places. The Science Bros over here can hit the computers and the labs, dig something up there. While you two blonde hunks," He finishes, pointing to Thor and Steve, "can play keep-away with the bad guys and keep them distracted."

Bruce glances at Tony, who bristled at Clint's plan as soon as "Bruce and Tony" was uttered. Steve, too, seems to be stiffening up at the idea, but his eyes harden in acceptance. "Sounds good, Barton. Let's do it."

Oooh boy. This is going to be interesting.

\---------------------------

It doesn't take long for Steve and Thor to find the enemy - they just follow the trail of destruction to the center of the base. There, they find a few dozen soldiers, dangerously outclassed, facing off against Emma Frost. She's in diamond form, standing in a hail of bullets which harmlessly repel off her. The humans are doing more damage to themselves than her. Steve immediately pushes his way in front of those closest to him, using his shield to protect them, only to have something slam hard into his back.

With a grunt he falls to his knees, and starts to turn to face his attacker. But Thor's already taken them out, tossing them aside hard, and has moved on to the next group. Looks like the people they're trying to save aren't going to be helpful. Steve stands and knocks out the man next to him, who had been in the process of lifting his gun towards Steve, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The real threat is Emma Frost, but Steve is loathe to focus on her with so many bystanders to get caught in the crossfire. He needs to get them out of the picture, for their own safety, before he can even try attacking Frost. She's not just going to wait for him to be ready, though; even as Steve barrels towards two gunmen, his arms cutting into their throats and slamming them down, she's turning on him.

He raises the shield just in time to catch her fist - a second later and he'd have a dent in his forehead. She's quick, light on her feet like Natasha, with all the strength of the Hulk. It's a deadly combination, even for a super soldier, and Steve thinks back to Clint's plan and realizes the man is right. They can't take her on like they are.

Trading blows with her is like being pummelled by a freight train. How in the world did Division X ever imagine traditional soldiers with guns were going to stop her?

"DOWN, CAPTAIN!"

He hears Thor's bellow and drops to his knees as a roar of air flies over him. THUNK - metal hits metal, and Emma's tossed head-over-feet through the air behind Steve. Cap stands and breaks into a run, racing shield-first into a soldier across the room. Behind him, he hears Thor summoning Mjolnir back to him and taking on Emma himself.

Steve leaps back into the fray, loses himself in the movement, and finds a strange satisfaction in it. Maybe letting off a little steam is just what he needs.

\---------------------------

Tony does not like being wrong.

Usually, he's not wrong. He's too good at what he does to be wrong. Every possibility, every contingency, appears in his head. Maybe things don't always go the exact way he thought they would but he's always on the right track.

It's hard not to think, not this time, with the tense silence weighing down the air between him and Bruce.

How could he be so stupid? He knew, from the start, that Bruce wasn't going to stay forever. One hiccup and I'm gone, he said. This is the hiccup. This is the moment Bruce realizes that behind the masks of indifference and arrogance, Tony is a needy, clingy sap who wouldn't know love if it sucker-punched him. This is when Bruce realizes Tony's more trouble than he's worth, and bails on him.

It feels like his heart has been stabbed with a thousand splinters and needles, and the pain is almost overwhelming. Reject his advances, fine, keep their relationship purely professional, he can do that. But if Bruce leaves? No. No no no no, it can't happen. Tony won't survive it.

He forces those thoughts away for the moment, best he can, and puts on his big boy pants and focuses on the mission. He's in the suit, but hopefully won't need it, just as Bruce is prepared to transform but hopefully won't have to. Their mission is info-gathering, which means less punching, more sneaking. To be honest Tony would rather be punching right about now.

They travel as fast as they can through the base until they find a laboratory that looks promising, and the both of them dig in. Tony jumps on the nearest computer, starts breaking in, while behind him Bruce is digging through files and paperwork.

They settle into a quiet routine, where Tony is copying everything in the network to his suit while Bruce collects his own research in paper form behind him. It's tedious, easy, and doesn't take enough brain power to occupy Tony and keep his mind from drifting. Every few minutes, every few seconds, with each and every breath, he thinks of Bruce.

"Tony,"

He startles, but the suit (hopefully) makes it hard to tell. Then again, with every movement it whirs and grinds, so maybe not. He glances back, doesn't say a word. Hopes that Bruce won't tell him he's leaving now, that he won't ever tell him at all, it might almost be easier if Bruce would just disappear and never give that horrible, awkward goodbye.

"Tony."

The tone is so heartfelt and cajoling, he can't ignore it. This is going to hurt, he knows it, so he prepares himself for the pain and mentally examines which of bottles he's got back home he's going to empty tonight.

Bruce's face is soft. eyes bright and strangely hazel, a soft green melding with Bruce's dark brown. It's beautiful. Tony stares hard into them, tries to memorize them, forces himself to keep his eyes dry.

"Can you at least lift the mask for this?"

"I'd really rather not." He's going to cry, he doesn't want Bruce to see him cry, he doesn't want the man hanging around out of pity for poor miserable lonely brilliant Tony Stark.

Bruce sighs, an understanding look on his face, and he nods. "Okay." Pauses, takes a deep breath, nervously fidgeting with his hands in front of him. "Tony, you are... undoubtedly one of the most intelligent and inventive people I have ever met. That's unquestionable." Okay, here comes the compliments to try and ease the painful rejection. It's not really working. "Most people would probably agree with me. But what most people don't see is that you're also one of the kindest, most selfless, caring and brave individuals the world's ever had." That... that's new. Tony gulps, a blush rising to his face.

"Pretty sure you're wrong on that count, big guy." He doesn't mean for his voice to sound so rough but he can't help it now.

"I thought you'd say that." Bruce smiles, takes a step closer to him. "Well, let's look at the facts. Since the other guy entered my life, I have been shot at, gunned down, attacked by tanks, and imprisoned. I've been tortured, hunted, and treated as a monster, an experiment, or a weapon. Everyone I meet is terrified or disgusted by me, or both. I've lost everything. After the Hulk, my job, my home, my friends, all of that was lost. All I had was Betty, but I couldn't stay with her and she couldn't come with me. So, in a sense, I lost her, too. That was my life... until you came along."

Tony didn't even realize he'd dropped his gaze until Bruce's hands are on the helmet, gently tilting it back up. "You are the first person who never feared me. You didn't act like I was a bomb about to go off or a thing to be kept in a cage. For the first time in years, I laughed and smiled with another person who actually knew who I was, and didn't hate me."

"And you didn't stop there. No matter how I pushed you away or tried to run, you still kept offering me a home, a safe place to stay. You were willing to let me - the Hulk - live with you. I thought it was just a game for you, back then, but it quickly became clear that it's not. You really meant what you said. Gave me a place to stay, a lab to work in, everything I could want, and you asked nothing of me at all."

Tony's pretty sure the arc reactor is about to explode trying to keep up with his heart beat. Breathing hurts, and he's biting his lip so hard it may be bleeding. This doesn't sound like Bruce's goodbye, but it could be, maybe, he could be trying to be very nice about it -

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, that, uh... about the other night?" Bruce drops his hands, but holds Tony's eyes with his own. "Don't think you need to make a martyr of yourself or work yourself to death to make me happy. You already have."

Oh. "Oh."

Bruce's gentle smile becomes warm and bright. "So can you take the mask off now."

He does - and hopes Bruce will miss the tear tracts. "A, uh, - rousing speech, buddy." He pats Bruce on the shoulder, very gently, still feel tender and warm and as if his heart's been scooped out of his chest. "You should do something with that. Enter politics, maybe."

Still grinning, Bruce shakes his head. "I like it right where I am, thanks."

\----------------------

The genius of Clint's plan is that it is both tactically sound, and manages to force the two duos who are having it out with each other to deal with one another. It's pretty awesome, if he does say so himself. The downside is that Clint is now sneaking through the base by himself with two super-baddies on the prowl.

Human soldiers, he can handle. He comes across a few while entering the base, but for the most part the base is empty. The scientists have made a break for it and the soldiers are marching on Frost. Where Azazel is, Clint has no idea.

He's in the north-western part of the base, walking down long empty hallways through what appears to be the living quarters of the base's staff. Nothing important so far, not so much as a single computer terminal.

He keeps moving, and finally his surroundings start to look promising, some sort of hospital, though he doubts that the purpose is so benign as that. He turns a corner, about to approach one of the rooms - when he sees movement in the corner of his eye.

Ducking back and moving up against the wall, Clint dares to glance around the corner. The stark redness of Azazel's skin grabs his attention, and he watches as the man meanders from hospital room to hospital room. He doesn't linger long; glances through a door, then moves to the next one. He's on his fifth one when he finally ceases to move, staring into the room. A second later he's got a phone at his ear.

"Boss," He starts with. "We've found the Scarlet Witch, but Quicksilver isn't here." For a few minutes, he listens to the phone, before agreeing to something and hanging up. Then he disappears into the room, and the tell-tale sound of teleportation fills the air. Clint darts around the corner and heads straight for the room, and it's no surprise when he finds it empty.

The rest aren't, though. Stalking through the hall, Clint glances through partially open doors and small circular windows. Each room has at least one person kept within, laying sedated on a hospital bed. Clint hesitates at one such door, staring inside at a tall black man who appears to be at least fifty years old.

"I'd bet anything that you are a mutant, my friend," He mutters under his breath. "Much to your dismay in this case, I'm afraid."

He hears footsteps coming, undoubtedly more soldiers, and in an instant Clint's made his choice. He ducks into the room, quickly gathers the man in his arms, and runs off through the hallway, making for the rendezvous point.

\------------------------

In the midst of their battle with Emma Frost, Azazel appears. Steve overcomes the suddenness of his appearance quickly, and is almost ready to turn on him when he notices the woman in his arms. She's unconscious, covered in bruises and scuff marks, and looks very much like she could use a good meal and a hot bath. For a minute, Steve tries to comprehend why she's there, what's going on, and in that moment the three of them vanish.

For better or worse, the man realizes, it's over. He has no idea if they're distraction was of any help, or if anything of value was found, but he certainly hopes so. Exhaustion begins to seep in, weighing him down, and it is in that moment that Steve becomes suddenly very aware that he is alone with Thor.

But this isn't the time or place. They're at work, surrounding by bodies, for heaven's sake! This isn't the time to be upset or to feel rejected when there wasn't ever really anything between them, anyway; just insinuations and implications that never came to be.

Steve can't help it; he feels let down, and horribly embarrassed. He wants to grow up and act civil, to not lose the one close friendship that's been sustaining him all this time, but it's hard. Imagining what could've been, seeing Thor and knowing it would never be... it hurt. But Steve is used to hurting - he can keep it tight to the chest, keep Thor from knowing. That's the last thing he wants.

They stumble through the base in silence, sweat drenched and tired, for Steve's part, at least. There's a strange silence between them that never would've existed before, and Steve can't help but wince and blame himself for creating this awkwardness.

"I have offended you."

Thor's voice breaks that silence with a strong, firm voice tinged with regret. Steve aches to hear it - stops walking and turns to face his friend.

"No, I - you haven't done anything. It's just me. I - I'll get over it." He tries going for a smile, but it comes out half hearted, and Thor notices if the narrowing of his eyes is any sign.

"Do not feel you must lie to protect me." Thor replies very seriously. "I know I am the source of your malady, I would have you tell me it so I may ease it."

His tone is so strangely quiet, so sincere, that Steve can't help but nod. "All right. I guess I just... and don't feel bad about this, all right? I was just under the impression you were, uh, how do they say it now?" Frowning a little, Steve fidgets and fights the blush he knows is coming. "I thought you were interested in me."

"Interested?" Thor looks vaguely confused and for a terrifying minute Steve thinks he's going to have to explain all this more in depth. But then the man's eyes widen and he nods. "Ah, you mean do I desire you?"

Yeah, there's that blush all right. "Uh, yeah."

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I do."

Steve's brain shuts down for at least half a minute, before he can even think of what to say. He's stumbling over his words and babbling and his hand might be trembling just a little bit. For a minute, he flashes back to sitting with Peggy in the back of that car, being so nervous he's talking about being beaten up in alleyways. "But - but you - you and Jane are together!"

There's a tense moment of quiet, in which Thor's brow furrows and he gazes away above Steve's shoulder, confused. "Yes, we are."

Steve gawks. "But you - you want me?"

"Yes."

"But you're with Jane!"

Thor crosses his arms, a befuddled, exasperated expression on his face. "I do not see how one negates the other."

A flash of fury comes to life in him. "You don't - are you implying you want to - to betray her?"

The exasperation now carries a hint of anger. "I do not like your implications, friend Steve. I would never -"

"Then what is this?" Steve, in his building ire, thrusts his arm out, takes a step back. "Are you just - you're interested, but you aren't going to act on it?"

"I would like to. If you are willing, -"

Thor doesn't get to finish his sentence before Steve's fist hits his face. "You -! The nerve of -!" He's so angry he can't speak, and his fist hurts to high heaven and his chest is fit to burst because this man he loves and admires is apparently eager to break Jane Foster's heart and trust.

Thor, for his part, places a hand against his cheek, looks up at Steve with a blank expression and narrowed eyes. "Steve, I believe we speak at cross purposes."

"Well, then, start making sense!" Gesturing madly again, Steve turns and starts walking. "Forget it, we should just go before something happens we both regret -"

"Steve - do you desire me?"

His feet stop without his consent, and he trembles at the words. But he takes in a deep breath, forces his heartbeat down. He can't have this. He's not allowed this. Pulling himself together, he turns round to tell Thor just that - only to find the God has moved, and stands in Steve's space so closely they breathe the same air. Steve's breath hitches, he freezes in place, and manages to do all of nothing just as Thor leans in and his lips seal over Steve's own.

It lasts for all of ten seconds. It's simple, innocent, a press of flesh to flesh, and yet it is lightning and thunder and fills Steve up with the warmth of a lazy sunrise. When they break apart, there is a precious moment of fluttery, ethereal bliss, before reality sets in. Steve feels the world go cold, his chest turning to a lump of ice as he tenses and pushes Thor away. The only reason the man moves is because he allows it.

"Don't - don't you dare." Steve whispers vehemently, feeling horrible and dirty and unable to see anything but Jane Foster's face, happy and smiling that day she arrived at the tower. "Don't touch me."

At that, the confused blankness of Thor's face shatters into horrified, heartbroken. The expression still hurts Steve, and so does turning and walking away. He thinks this will hurt for a long time yet.

\-----------------------

The first thing Jane notices when the team comes back is the utter devastation in Thor. It's in his pose, his face, his eyes, the way he fails to jovially celebrate the end of the mission with a bright smile and booming voice. It's obvious he's not himself, but even worse, Jane can see it's not just a rough fight or some icky luck that's got him down. She knows her lover: his expression is beyond a bad day. Something's torn him to pieces.

He storms out of the main room on the ground floor, towards the elevator, and she has to run double time just to catch the elevator before he can head up. He doesn't look up at her, hardly notices she's there. Nervousness shoots through her and wraps around her heart like veins. "What happened?"

There's no reply. Quietly, carefully, she steps beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and lets the quiet stew, unsure of what to do or how to make whatever it is get better. Thor's glaring holes into the ground and his mouth is set in a firm, hard line.

"I... believe I may have done you wrong." He begins softly, voice thrumming with tension. It's not what she expected him to start with. Something about the mission, about the enemy they face or the wrongs being done by the bad guys. Not a relationship talk, now of all times. "It seems that the differences between your world and mine are significantly more than I expected."

Now she's really confused, and the answer to that seems to be blinking quite a lot. "Did something happen?"

He turns to her, his usually bright eyes dark and clouded. "Jane... Would you please tell me of your Midgardian mating tradition?"

Again, not what she was expecting. But far be it from her not to help Thor however she can. "Well... Midgard's a big place. Every country has different customs. Sometimes within the country it varies by religion, ethnic group... In the US, the typical relationship is supposed to be monogamous, a marriage between a man and a woman. Of course there are a lot of issues with that assumption and there's more to the human race than that and there are sub cultures and counter cultures who have different standards... Honestly it varies person to person but typically it's two people in a lifelong relationship... If it works out." She watches his look sour the more she talks. "It's not like that in Asgard, is it?"

"No." He says. "It is not."

\--------------------------

It's hours later, and Tony is in his workshop, when it hits him like a spear striking straight through his chest. Burning, agonizing pain; unstoppable agony. Cardiac arrest.

He's gasping for breath and falling to his knees, coffee cup shattering upon the floor and spilling liquid all around. Trembling hands lift to his chest, pull up his shirt. The arc reactor is still there, it hasn't been taken out, hasn't been removed, and it's not in need of repair, he always knows when it needs repair! Yet, as he watches through teary eyes the light flickers and fades, then goes out.

"JARVIS!" He screams in pure terror. He hasn't had to deal with a reactor suddenly cutting out on him since - since Obie. Since forever. It should be working, there's no reason it shouldn't be, but the pain is crawling through him and cutting his chest apart, and he's sweating and shaking and - "JARVIS!"

Get up. Move. Crawl. Find a replacement. Blearing eyes glance up to where the back up reactors are, and he reaches out with a trembling arm. His upper body collapses to the floor, and he forces himself to pull along the ground, to make it there. He's not going to die like this! He's not - he's not -

When I ordered the hit on you, I was worried that I was killing the golden goose.

Gotta move - have to live - can't -

But, you see, it was just fate that you survived it, leaving one last golden egg to give.

Not going to die like this, not here, not now -

You really think that just because you have an idea, it belongs to you? Your father, he helped give us the atomic bomb. Now what kind of world would it be today if he was as selfish as you?

"Sir? Help is on the way, please hold on! Sir!"

Pain - darkness, then silence.


	18. Family Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A close call brings the team a little closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys~! I'd like y'all to know that I now have a personal website, which contains all my fanworks from all my accounts - including this one - and a bunch of other awesome stuff. For instance, right now I'm writing up a blog post about my inspiration for my concept of Asgardian culture, which appears in this chapter.
> 
> I would be delighted if you would check it out. I'm updating it constantly, so keep an eye on it~
> 
> http://fictionaltruths.weebly.com/

That Same Day, An Hour Earlier

The only thing keeping Steve from running down to the gym and tearing into a punching bag is knowing that he is needed. There is a mission to complete, lives to save. Those thoughts cut through the fog of anger weighing him down, and keep him from storming from the room. He thinks of going to the gym later to let out steam, and suddenly his anger is overcome with intense sadness, as he remembers all the times he and Thor had spent sparring in that same room. He will never look at it the same way again.

Sighing, Steve brushes the sweat off his forehead and moves his bangs out of his eyes. "Who is this guy, Clint?"

Said archer is squatting in a chair next to the hospital bed, his arms resting on his knees. "No clue. I didn't have time to look up his paperwork or anything, I just grabbed him and ran."

Another sigh. "Okay. Well, this is a start. Maybe when he wakes up he can tell us something."

"I can tell you something now." Natasha saunters into the room towards Steve, only hesitating a moment to throw a remark Clint's way. "Coulson says to stop hovering outside the building - either come in and talk to him or don't come at all." At that, the archer's face twitches involuntarily, the only sign that the woman's barb hit its mark. Steve glances at him - he'd noticed Clint had been away from the tower, but he'd thought the man had been visiting Coulson, not just taking guard outside his window. Looks like we're all a mess around here.

"What did you find?"

She says nothing, merely holds out a book. "Computers wiped clean, and the government won't reveal any documents related to mutant involvement in the Cuban Missile Crisis." She begins after a moment. "But this gives us a pretty good picture of who we're dealing with."

He takes the book from her with gentle hands, respectful of what it is, what it stands for - a person's soul, spread upon the page, just like his -

\- sketchbook.

The knowledge hits him like a freight train and he reels from it, though the only outward sign is the widening of his eyes. His sketchbook! In the chaos of the last day or so, he'd completely forgotten its existence, forgotten that he'd left it on the first floor that night Jane had...

Horror crawls up from Steve's gut and lodges itself in his throat. Oh no. Thor probably has it - he'd just dropped it right in front of him, the man must've picked it up, he must've - holding back a groan, Steve forces the thoughts away. Right now, he's got bigger problems to deal with than his own.

\----------------------------------------

Clint watches Steve take the book, but he's not really watching Steve take the book. He's stuck in five minutes ago, in "Coulson says stop hovering", in Natasha's withering disapproval.

Of course Coulson knows Clint was watching out for him, that was a given. That he disapproves is different. It makes Clint itchy and nervous, this acknowledgement aloud of what Clint's been doing. It's supposed to be silent thing, their caring about each other. At least, it was. Somebody got hurt, the others hovered and watched over them in darkness and silence until they were better, and not a peep was said about any of it at all.

Don't admit weakness. Don't admit vulnerabilities. And if anything was a weakness and a vulnerability, caring about people, - caring openly - was.

Clint can't deny it, he cares, he cares a hell of a lot about a lot of people nowadays, but there are only two people he'd honest to god give his life for, no question. Coulson is on that tiny list. That pop song about "jump on a grenade" or something gets stuck in his head for half a minute thinking about it, cause it's true. He'd do that, and more, for Coulson.

But it's supposed to go unacknowledged, never spoken of, never admitted to, because to speak of it and admit to it would be airing their dirty laundry, good as saying to the world that they aren't just weapons to complete missions, but people with real feelings. Clint does not like being a person with real feelings. Real feelings hurt.

He couldn't let Coulson stay in that mansion alone, unguarded, never. So, he hovered, stayed out of sight of the man but close enough to protect him. Same old, same old. Coulson had never complained before.

Something's changed with him, with them, since their reunion, and it makes Clint squirm to think that he doesn't know what it is, that he's fumbling in the dark. Coulson's changing the game and not telling Clint the rules, and it's making the archer angry and nervous and another strange feeling like soda bubbles in the throat, all at once, and he does not. Like. It. At all.

"Barton."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Clint looks up at Tasha, the only other person on that short list, the list of people he'd die for. She nods towards the doorway, and he realizes they're leaving. He turns to the man in the bed.

"Well, buddy, here's to hoping you wake up soon," He pats the man on the shoulder. "For your own sake as much as ours." Then he trots off behind her, shoving all the melodrama far away from the forefront of his mind, and he plans to never, ever drudge it back up.

\-----------------------------

"Would you mind telling me about your culture?"

Thor glances upwards, meets Jane's bright eyes and gentle smile, and cannot help but smile in return. She is the sun breaking through the storm clouds of his thoughts, the darkness he is mired in. Somehow, he has gravely erred, and perhaps lost the respect and friendship of one whom he admires. In doing so, he has apparently also injured the honor of his beloved Jane. He cannot believe his own foolishness, his failure to assess more fully his actions, but at times the similarities between himself and the mortals are so many, that they make him forget those few important differences. Differences such as this.

"If you don't feel comfortable..." Jane, taking Thor's silence for reticence, begins to rescind her request. Thor raises a hand to stop her, and as he does, the elevator they are riding stops on Thor's floor. Jane glances out the door, and her eyes widen. "Wow."

Thor can't help but grin at that. "Friend Tony was quite generous in providing accommodations."

"I'll say." His lover laughs, glancing around at the Viking-inspired decor, the painstakingly researched furnishings, which are still incorrect given the differences between Midgardian Viking culture and Asgardian culture. Though Thor does not find much similarity to home in his surroundings, that Tony thought to try and emulate it is pleasing enough. He has never told Tony of his mistake. Perhaps, he should have. It is just such silence around the variances in their cultural backgrounds that has caused this horrific trial he now faces.

Jane saunters through the room, silently exploring it with her eyes, analyzing and connecting facts and history even as he watches. This, to him, is when she is most beautiful. Not bare and spread across his bed or dressed finely in clothes for celebration, though both are splendid. This: when her mind does what she is best at, when her skills come to the fore and her brow crinkles in thought, love and desire burst into life in Thor's chest.

Today, his sober mood quickly kills the feeling, and he lets out a sigh. "Perhaps we should sit down."

Jane nods, accommodating, and Thor cannot stop himself from reaching out and taking both her hands in his, holding them gently. He says nothing. Silently, he is so thankful that she has not reacted in anger, that she has not demanded to know his sins, that she has not judged him for this failure. He cannot help but wince at the memory of Steve's anger, so hot and violent. How could one he'd thought to be so temperate and non-judgmental to have reacted so... either his blunder is larger than he imagined, or Steve is perhaps not the man he'd thought.

"So... do you want to talk?" Jane fidgets, clearly nervous, unsure perhaps of what to do or how to help. Clearing his throat, Thor decides to simply come out with it.

"I attempted to begin a romantic relationship with Steve Rogers and he became very angry and claimed I was besmirching your honor."

To her credit, all it takes for Jane to absorb this is one blink of her wide, stunned eyes. "O... kay." She pauses, takes a deep breath. "Why did you try to do that?"

Thor shrugs. "I desire him. He is a good man, and I find many things about him attractive. He is honorable, kind, and it is natural for him to put others before himself even to his own detriment. He is a mighty warrior, yet is humble and lacks excessive pride." Jane begins to smile as he explains, and Thor just keeps going, finding that somehow remembering these things is helping to ease the burn of their last encounter. "Steve is amusing, though it is... subtle. There is much to him that might be missed if one did not know to pay close attention. On the field, he is a powerful ally."

Jane nods. "I see."

"I also enjoy the way his uniform fits upon him."

"... ah."

Then, his even, calm tone breaks a bit. His voice lowers. "Is it true that, by doing so, I have dishonored you?"

Jane bits her lip. "... um, yeah? I mean -" At her words, Thor's face falls and he looks for all the world as if someone had shattered the hammer into a thousand pieces and killed Loki with the shards. "It's -" She sighs, one of her hands rubbing at the space between her eyes. "It's not all bad. Some couples do that. I told you about all the differing practices - the problem is, well... it's twofold." Her hand lowers, and she meets his eyes. "You and I should definitely talk about this stuff before there is any propositioning. You know what I mean?"

"Of course!" He insists strongly. "I should have thought - tis only, I -"

"Hey, it's okay. I get it. First me, then you." Jane says, and he gives a slight nod. "We should definitely talk about our relationship and our boundaries, what we're comfortable with. I've... I'll be honest, I've never given it much thought. My relationships have been quick and short lasting, there's never been a question of, well, anything really. Marriage, moving in, pets, kids, I've never faced those questions, let alone if I would be willing to be in a... what would it be called? An open relationship? Polyamory?"

Thor has no idea what she is saying, so he remains quiet and dutifully listens.

"So... it's as much my fault as it is yours. I mean, logically I know we're from different worlds, but it's hard to process? And I don't always think about just how much is different between us, and I never thought to ask about how our expectations for our relationship would be different."

"Neither did I." Thor feels the need to defend Jane very strongly, for she is the wronged party here, while he is at fault. "I am to blame."

Her lithe hand smacks his on the back, so lightly it is barely a tickle. "Stop that. No harm done, okay? My honor is completely intact, and I still love you." For emphasis, she leans in and presses a kiss to his lips. "I doubt this will be our last cultural flop, so we just have to talk about it, figure out how to deal with it, and go from there."

At that, he leans in and gives her a kiss of his own, more passionate and potent. They linger close together as they part, both smiling. "I am blessed to have such a partner."

She grins broadly. "Yup. Now, tell me all about Asgardian dating."

Thor nods; and he begins to explain.

He talks about the varying classes of Asgard: the nobility, the merchants, the warriors, the servants. Though the lines between classes are not hard drawn, the traditions surrounding relationships within those classes tend to be held to tightly. The expectation that citizens, especially nobility, marry and have children is high - but that does not exclude engaging in relationships for love, sex, or both.

"A noble may have a husband or wife," He explains, "to whom they are married to for the purpose of politics, or to uphold a peace treaty -"

"Marriage is more of way of moving ahead in the world." Jane says, and Thor nods. "Like in medieval Europe. It's a means of gaining in the economy and the class structure?"

"It can be for love, but not always. Regardless of why the marriage exists, it is not considered..." He's not sure how to word this. These are just facts, they simply exist. It is like trying to explain why there is air, why there is water. This is simply how his world works. "Marriages may be many, or not at all." He settles on. "Relationships outside of marriage, or with someone who is already married, is not shameful."

"So, Asgard accepts polygamy, extramarital affairs, polyamorous relationships, and I'm also guessing they don't mind much about the genders involved?" Thor shakes his head. "Wow. You guys need to start creating Visas because I know a lot of people who would love to live in a place like that."

Thor's not sure what she means, but he nods. "As I am both a noble and a warrior, I would carry certain expectations."

"Continue the family line."

Thor nods. "I never considered marrying for love. I would marry someone in the noble houses, but I would be allowed to have as many partners as I chose. The dea did not quite appeal to me."

"So, no string of lovers back home?" Jane asks, and Thor shakes his head.

"There were times I took a lover for a night but I had no paramours." Jane smiles a little at his choice of words.

"As a warrior and son of the King, I would have married, but I might also find comfort, or form a close bond, with one of my fellow warriors. I have seen such happen often. Those who are married love each other still, or perhaps there was never any love but at the least, there was a bond - but distance between them creates loneliness."

"Then warriors find other warriors to be with? Either just for sex, or because they love them?" Thor nods. "... I'm your wife and Steve's your warrior in this scenario, isn't he?"

Thor blushes a little, and it's terribly endearing. "I... I do love you. But being often in Asgard, and working with the Avengers, while you pursue your own work in Midgardian Science -"

"No, I get it. You don't have to explain." Her eyes dart over her face as she nibbles on her lower lip. "I've felt it, too." They sit together in a silence that manages to be both comfortable and awkward. "You liked Steve, and you were lonely, so you tried to ... 'court him'?"

"He did not react kindly to my overtures, though I do believe he reciprocates my feelings."

"Okay, Thor." Jane turns to face him again, putting both her hands on his. "I'm going to give you a crash course in the history of American sexuality..."

Bruce has just gotten out of the shower and started to slip on his pajama pants when the ceiling starts screaming at him.

"Dr. Banner!" JARVIS has never sounded so out-of-breath, so panicky and upset - so human. "The Master's arc reactor has ceased to function! I do not believe he is currently capable of -"

JARVIS doesn't get to finish saying what Tony's incapable of before Bruce is out the door, clad only in black flanel pj pants, storming down the hall to the elevator. "Tell the team!" He shouts back to JARVIS as he slides through the doorway. "And make this thing go faster!"

Despite the fact that he was just out and running around a while ago, the Hulk has reared back up and is ready to spring to life, buzzing beneath Bruce's skin. The only thing keeping him down is the knowledge that, right now, Tony needs Bruce Banner, scientist and doctor, and not the Hulk, smasher of bad guys. He knows, somehow, that the Hulk knows that and is laying low. He tucks away that surprising nugget to think about later.

By the time he's barreling down the last hallway to Tony's lab, Natasha is running in with Clint and Steve from the other side, and Thor is coming in through the ceiling and Bruce honestly approves. If he could've Hulked out and gotten down here faster and been sure he could change back in enough time to save Tony, he'd have done it. He has a feeling none of his teammates are all that concerned about the structural damage, either.

They all slide to a halt at the door and part for him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea, because the only people who can open that door are him and Tony. JARVIS can't, not without permission, which was apparently an added feature after Tony became irritated by JARVIS being a little too lenient about the people allowed in his lab. That's a feature that's going to be removed, even if Bruce has to remove it himself.

The door opens and they all burst inside. "TONY!"

He's on the floor, shaking and making tiny little sounds that ache to hear, sharp gasps and hurt sounds like sobbing, and Bruce's anger bursts his chest in two. Tony should never feel like this, should never make those sounds, should never hurt like this -

He slides to his knees next to Tony whilst barking orders. "Replacement reactor, now!" The light's gone and smoke is rising from it, though at first glance Bruce can't see what's wrong. He reaches to touch it, and suddenly Tony gives a scream, jolts and tries backing away, but he's too weak to go far. Steve is beside him in an instant, holding him, and then Tony starts struggling harder.

"Tony! Tony!" Steve's not getting to him, he's wrapping one arm around his chest over the reactor and trying to pry Steve off with the other, even using his legs to try and push him away.

"What is happening to him?" Thor stands by, tense and ready but by the look of him, completely lost and unsure of how to help, and irritated to be so unsure.

"Some kind of episode - panic attack maybe." Clint is kneeling next to them and pulling out his arrows. "I can tranq him, just hold him still -"

"Wait!" Bruce holds up a hand. "Let me try." Clint's hard eyes meet him.

"Try what? Knock him out and fix him, before it gets any worse!"

"That's not going to be helpful in the long run!"

"What the hell are you talking about, long run? Just -"

"Clint!" Natasha joins them, a reactor in her hand, and when Clint turns her way she gives him a look, a silent reproach. Finally he sighs and backs away, but he's got the tranq ready. Bruce admits it might be necessary, if only to himself.

Then, he quickly turns to Tony, leans close to him, puts one hand on either of his cheeks to hold his head steady. "Tony? Tony?" He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't get too close, but he makes sure Tony can see his face. For a few seconds, Tony's eyes are still rolling madly in his head, looking all around but seeing nothing, while he breathes hard through his mouth. Then, his gaze snaps to Bruce's face. "Tony. Tony, it's me. You know who I am?"

Tony says and does nothing, but his eyes stay on Bruce. "It's just Bruce, you remember? Enormous Green Rage Monster?" A few smiles and smirks appear on the faces around him, but the situation is still too tense for any real laughter. "Your reactor died - I've got a replacement, but you have to let me take the other one out." Tony's eyes narrow, he stiffens, and the arm over his chest tightens. "I'm not going to do anything but put the replacement in. Can I do that, Tony?"

Ten seconds, then twenty, and Clint is getting ready with the tranquilizer, when Tony's eyes lose some of that instinctual fear and his arm moves. In an instant Bruce is removing the broken one and Natasha hands him the new one and quick as a flash - he presses it in, and that blessed light flashes into existence.

Tony gives a big, audible intake of breath, heaving upwards, and it is as if, in that moment, the whole Avengers team started to breath again.

\------------------------------

They have dinner as a family.

They don't eat at a table; they all just happen to congregate in the nearest living room, spread across couches and love seats. Bruce collapses on a couch with Tony tucked into his side, and refuses to leave him, and then somebody orders pizza. The rest just happens naturally.

Thor sits with Jane in his lap, hunched over her and around her as if he were her outer shell. The cape's been removed, and wrapped around the both of them, and Thor keeps his arms tight around Jane. She feeds both of them, and in between bites, he leans his head into the crook of her neck.

Clint is on the arm rest, just a head above the rest of the group, and he's got one hand in Natasha's hair. Natasha lets him run his hand over her scalp while she subtly leans into it.

Steve sits alone, on one end of the couch, stiff backed with his limbs at practically ninety degree angles, eating his meal with his eyes lowered. Every so often, he glances at Tony, and then his eyes slowly move across each person, making sure each one is still in one piece.

Darcy, Jane's friend, has joined them, and she chose to take the spot closest to the TV, sitting on the floor with her back to the coffee table.

And Bruce and Tony are exactly where they were forty five minutes ago, when dinner was ordered: leaning against each other on one end of the couch, thigh to thigh.

The group eats in silence, broken only by the television. No one is looking at it. In fact, every pair of eyes seems to be glazed over, and most are staring at the floor. They remain this way through most of dinner, chowing down on the six different pizzas they always order. Not much is being eaten this time - Thor and Steve, their 'hungry hippos', as Clint calls them, are barely eating at all.

Tony's not having any pizza. His whole body is stiff, arms crossed, head hunched down, elbows resting on knees, and he's staring a burning hole into the carpet. Bruce keeps looking at him every five seconds, and Tony can feel it even without looking up to see if its true.

He is humiliated and infuriated and all kinds of words that end in -ted, but most of all he can't believe this silence is all because of him, all for him, for a supposedly impossible accident that he can't fucking explain, and it pisses him off beyond belief that he can't explain it. If he moves, he's ninety nine percent sure he's going to run downstairs and figure out what the fuck happened with the reactor, but he stays where he is. This silence is because of him and he can't bring himself to leave these people who are actually, honest-to-god mourning for him and he's not even dead.

Tony manages to survive it for almost thirty minutes. He's about to explode. Wants to, needs to, and things are not going to be pretty if something doesn't change soon. This can't continue. He wants to brush it off, joke about it and move on, but that's gallows humor and apparently none of these people appreciate that - and he doesn't get it, why is this so seriously bad, if this stupid solemnity continues another second, Tony is gonna -

"Hey, look," Darcy's voice is a match being lit in the dark. "Star Trek." She's quiet, seemingly cognizant of the dark cloud hanging overhead, and attempting in a very subtle and un-invasive way to try to lighten it.

No one replies... at first.

Tony's brain is mush. It takes a few seconds for him to process it. When he does, he finds his voice, somehow. "Which one?"

Darcy jumps, surprised anyone replied. But it lasts only a second. "TNG."

"Captain Shakespeare and 1st Officer Kirk-the-Second." Tony speaks evenly, without inflection, but he's speaking. "TOS was better."

"Says you." Darcy is playing the game with him, and he's grateful. "Granted, I like DS9 best, but TNG was still good."

"Says you." Tony parrots back. It's all he's got.

The room's quiet again, for a second.

"They're all good." Bruce says. "But DS9 had Jadzia Dax, so..."

"Point." Tony lifts his arm and gestures to Bruce. "He has one."

"TOS is a classic." Jane offers between pizza bites. "They're all good, but none of the new ones can really recapture that initial spark."

"You mean the spark of overacting, piss-poor funding, and the Gorn?"

"Hey. Everyone loves the Gorn."

"What's Star Trek?"

Everyone turns, at once, to Steve. "We have sorely failed in this man's - and this man's" Tony gestures first to Steve, then Thor, "educations in failing to introduce them to Star Trek. JARVIS!"

"Of course, sir." The TV fades to black, and then the familiar opening song of the original series begins to play.

Just like that, the tension fades from the air. Tony feels like he can breath again for the first time since the reactor failed, and he slumps back into the couch in relief. He doesn't leave - the lab beckons to him, but he stays, keeps an ongoing commentary of the show, banters with Clint and Bruce and the other nerds, even Tasha gets into it. Thor starts asking questions, and after a while, Steve even starts piping in. No one leaves, not for hours and hours.

Some point during The Naked Time, Tony feels a hand squeeze his, grab on and hold tight. The same hand that cupped his cheek and broke through his panic to save his life. A week ago, in this situation, he'd have played it off, pulled his hand away.

This time, he lets his hand stay.


	19. Teary Eyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sketchbook reappears, Natasha struggles with personal conflicts, and Steve asks a hard question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I would like to ask everyone to please cool their jets, take a deep breath, and look again at the listed pairings for this story. This story will NOT be Jane/Thor/Steve or Jane/Thor with a side of Steve. It is Thor/Steve.
> 
> I realize that right now things don't look good for them, or it looks like it might take a different direction than you were expecting, but that's just because I am a evilly evil person who likes creating torment and angst. While I can't swear I know up-and-down how this story is going to go, those four pairings in the description are set in stone.
> 
> So be patient, watch and wait, and you will be rewarded, Steve/Thor fans! (and so will Jane/Darcy fans, cough cough...)
> 
> Second, I now have a website! If you'd like to see all my works in one place, please check out fictionaltruths.weebly.com!

Upon the table lies distorted scraps of metal, torn pieces of machinery, and an electromagnet - the inner workings of the arc reactor. Not just any, but the one which was made for Tony's chest, which had been working only the night before. It is now trash, and will be carefully disposed of in due time, but for now it lays spread before Tony.

In the middle of the messy pile of metal, which only Tony and Bruce can make head or tails of, is a ring of wire. Bruce recognizes its use, and what it means that the ring has somehow, someway, been twisted and broken, disconnected. His mind darkens and broils, the usual anger level rising higher and higher towards the boiling point. He cannot fathom how that precious ring was snapped while it was inside Tony's chest, while he was supposedly safe, in the mansion with his team. Just looking at it, even thinking about it, pushes the Hulk so close to the surface Bruce almost can't hold him back.

Only six people stand around this table, watching Tony expose his guts before them. It is miraculous that they are afforded this privilege, and all of them recognize the depth of what they're being allowed. This won't be repeated at SHIELD headquarters, or anywhere else. This is Avengers business.

Tony points at the tear in the wire, head lowered, tone dark. "That. That's the -" His hand lifts, rubs his eyes, and Bruce can see where he's dancing all around the words that would indicate just what happened. It's not a failure to acknowledge that he almost died. Tony is all too frank and uncaring about those things. It's that his tech failed, that somehow his machinery failed him, and he's not sure how. "It's supposed to -" He mimes a circle in the air with both hands. No other words come, and his hands fall against the table hard.

Steve glances up at him, arms crossed. "Do you -" Warily, he shifts his weight. "Have you figured out what happened?" Tony's frown deepens, his eyes narrow as his hands clench.

"Guess not, then." Clint mumbles.

"It had to be the Brotherhood." Natasha, having been quiet and distant for most of the proceedings, steps out of the dark corner she's been haunting to speak up. "The timing is too close, and you've been their target all along."

Frustration and ire color Tony's voice as he throws his hands in the air. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense, or it would if it were actually possible to do this to the reactor without even fucking touching it, but -" His movements grow jerkier, his voice louder. "It is not fucking possible to do - to do this to the reactor without even opening it up, without being in the goddamn building -"

"Perhaps they were." Bruce turns to face the next speaker, Thor. "Are we certain the base was not infiltrated?"

JARVIS and Tony reply as one.

"Of course it fucking wasn't, I would -"

"There were no unauthorized -"

"All right, enough." Steve silences them with a wave of his hand, but Tony bristles beneath it, still seething. Bruce imagines his friend's posture and expression might be something akin to how Bruce looks when he's trying to control the other guy - as if he might burst out of his own skin at any moment. "We don't know how it happened or who did it. But since the target was obviously Tony, I think it's safe to say its the same folks who've been targeting him all along."

Natasha, feeling her observation confirmed, nods. "The Brotherhood."

"Erik Lensherr." Clint pipes in.

"But how the fuck - !?" Tony's untamed anger pops, and he throws his arms up before twisting his hands into his hair. "It's not fucking possible!"

"Tony," Opposed to the pure rage of his team mate, Steve is calm, his tone even and placating. "This past month we've met psychics, weather witches, and men who shoot beams out've their eyes. Not to mention the fellas on our team." That garners a few self-depreciating smirks and even a chuckle from Thor. "It's not impossible that someone could've -"

"No, no, shut up." Tony turns on him, finding in Steve a direction for his anger and Bruce wonders how it is that Steve always ends up Tony's punching bag. What is it about the two of them that it always comes to this? If he thought he could intervene without losing his carefully held control, Bruce would've. "This is - this is beyond mutants and thunder gods and super soldiers, this is - some invisible hand reaching into my goddamn chest and tearing my heart out, this is - there is no clue, no hint, no residue or sign of tampering, there's just a fucking wire," At that, he picks up said object, gesturing with it in Steve's face before simply throwing it towards the man. "and it's broken, and I can't - I can't -"

Tony can't finish. He doesn't have to, Bruce knows exactly what he's not saying, it's written in every line of his body.

I can't fix it. I can't stop it from happening again. I can't explain it.

I'm scared.

And that's what has Bruce so angry, so enraged that he almost can't repress it, that only years of practicing hold the Hulk in check. Tony is terrified, and Bruce can't do a thing to reassure him, or protect him - not from this unknown, unexplained enemy, who is apparently so powerful and far reaching that he can enter the mansion - their home - and tear right into Tony Stark and disrupt the device that's keeping him alive.

"Tony -" Steve gives a sigh but the man is already storming away. Their Captain turns to Bruce, eyes pleading, and that's all the prompting he needs. He follows Tony from the room.

\------------------------

Steve watches Bruce chase after Tony with a heavy heart, his tone tinged with resignation as he speaks again. "We've gotta talk with Director Fury about this. Clint," He turns to the archer and the man gives him a mock salute. "Get us a meeting with the guy, ASAP." He runs off to do just that, as Steve turns to Natasha. "Save the info you had for us 'til then, no need to share it twice." She nods, then she's gone, and that leaves...

Stiffening, Steve turns to the last member of the team in the room. His eyes lift to rest upon Thor's shoulder, going no higher, and he nods. "Dismissed," He barely manages to say, before turning to leave himself. He never gets that far.

"Captain," Thor begins, and Steve keeps walking. "Steve!" There is desperation and hurt in that tone, and Steve can't ignore the sharp ripple of guilt that hits him. Even though Thor is - is - what? Trying to cheat on his dame? Steve's the one that feels guilty? But he can't help it. He doesn't turn around but he stops walking, tilts his head slightly back.

"Yes, Thor?" He's got to be professional. They're going to have to work together for the foreseeable future, Thor's got to be able to trust him as a leader, he can't let this come between them. So, he'll forgive Thor, crush his foolish hopes down to dust, and move on. He's done it before.

He hears shuffling behind him. Steve closes his eyes - he knows the exact expression on Thor's face, the befuddled eyes, downturned lips, his big frame moving nervously in such a way it's disarming, and endearing. He can't forget what that looks like, but he can't let himself see it again.

"I believe I have - there has been a misunderstanding."

Steve chuckles. "Thor, you don't have to worry about me telling Jane. Long as you don't do anything, I'll keep it secret." They have a good thing going, and so long as Thor doesn't betray Jane, he's not going to ruin it. "You don't have to try and convince me not to tell."

A sigh; a heavy hand falls onto Steve's shoulder and he can't help it, he jumps like he's been shocked, spinning round and whirling away. Now he can see Thor's eyes, and they shine with the pain of it, but Steve can't make himself move back into the man's range.

"No, I - I..." Thor's hand, hovering midair, clutches at nothing, before he lets it drop. "I have told Jane."

That surprises Steve; but then, no it doesn't. Because Thor is so honest, so straight forward, there's not a deceptive or manipulative bone in his body and that was part of what drew Steve to him. How could he have forgotten that? Even in the midst of what... what happened, lying was never something Thor would do. Maybe because of how much lying and deception had destroyed his family.

"I was... I falsely believed that the customs of Midgard more closely resembled my own, and took actions that an Asgardian would take." Thor's hands clench nervously at his side, and he's looking away towards the wall, and Steve has never seen him so nervous, so keyed up. All over him? "I had hoped to court you, that we might become lovers -" He frowns slightly. "That we might -"

"Become...sweethearts?"

He nods, his eyes a little lighter than before. "I had hoped. In Asgard, it is not so strange to be in a relationship with many, to have more than one lover or..." He gestures haphazardly, and Steve finishes for him.

"Sweetheart."

The word catches in his throat and he struggles to release it - when he does, his voice is strangled and high, and he feels betrayed, betrayed by everyone and everything. Betrayed by his old friends, that they're gone and they've left him here, betrayed by God that he's been dropped down the rabbit hole to this strange place where nothing makes sense and he's always the odd one out, utterly betrayed by the one person who made all the bullshit okay.

Betrayed by himself, that he can't let go of this, of the fact that Thor actually wanted to be his sweetheart.

"You wanted... with both of us?" It's more than a foreign concept, it's - he can't begin to fathom it. It's like Thor has suddenly started speaking another language, because he's making no sense, Steve just doesn't understand.

The man just nods, short and simple, holding himself tight together as if afraid Steve might start yelling at any moment. "Jane explained that you might... that where you come from, such things might be too far from the norm for you to easily accept. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

"That's..." Steve frowns, a hand rising to his brow. He's not sure how to say what he's trying to say, because he's still not sure what he wants to say. His brain is a jumbled and the wreckage that is his heart rising up his throat is making it harder.

"I would like us to be friends, as we were before." Thor continues, and after Steve continues to remain silent, speaks again. "That is... if - if you are willing?"

Steve wants that, so much, he does, but right now he's not sure he can even speak. Instead he gives a quick nod and spins around, bolts for the door. Maybe Thor calls after him, maybe he doesn't. Steve runs.

\-----------------------

There is fury blanketing his mind, clouding his thoughts with raw red color, and it is all Tony can do not to throw the suit on and fly off, just to do it. But flying's not what he needs, not now, not when just a few hours ago his damn reactor gave way and - and - he can't complete the thoughts, not even to himself, can't admit the truth, not now not ever -

Storming to the lab Tony calls out the lockout codes, runs jagged, dirty nails over his scalp, stomps through the room like mad. He - He should build, he should make something, get his hands working, get his mind off this -

But what's the fucking point? Because apparently there's an asshole out there with a God-mod fucking mutation who can tear it all apart, can make his creation useless with - with nothing, and now none of it matters, because all there is to Tony is the creation, the machines, and if he can't create and his machinery can't be trusted he is fucking useless, he is worse than nothing, he is shit -

"SHIT!"

Something shatters as he throws his hands down on the work bench. Blood starts flowing, and he doesn't care, just does it again, and again, slams his arms down. "SHIT SHIT SHIT! GODDAMMIT!" Specks of red litter the floor and cover his tools, and he can hardly see them through the haze of rage blocking his vision. He throws his hands down again - but this time, they never reach the table.

His eyes snap open, and he shouldn't be surprised that it's Bruce holding his arms still.

They are both of them silent, standing in his workshop, blood and mess covering the table between them, staring at each other. Bruce's eyes are wide and bright green, but he's not transforming, he's just staring at Tony and the man doesn't know what to do with that look, that vulnerable, hurt, enraged look that's somehow comforting and vaguely intimidating, or it would be if it were anyone else but Tony's never been afraid of Bruce, never will -

"You really do have a lid on it, don't you?" He breathes heavy. Bruce's lips twitch into a quick smile, but he shakes his head.

"No, I - I'm not holding him back." Bruce chuckles at the show of surprise on Tony's face, the wide eyes and open mouth. "It happened yesterday, too, when you - when the reactor failed." Tony flinches, but Bruce doesn't let him withdraw his hands. "I didn't even have a chance to hold him down, it just - seeing you on the floor like that... my control shattered."

That sentence rings through his mind and Tony memorizes it, tucks it away to remember forever. "But you didn't transform?"

"I think," Bruce's hands are lowering Tony's from their stiff held-up position, and he's looking over the little cuts on his knuckles. "I think he knew you were in trouble, and he stayed back. He could've broken through, and he didn't. We sort've," He looks back up, and Tony's mesmerized by just how green his eyes are, luminescent. "We were both there. Both conscious, at the same time. That's never happened."

"Never?"

Bruce shakes his head. "Now, it's happened twice in two days." A baffled smile lights up Bruce's face, brighter than his eyes. "Congratulations, Mr. Stark. You've solved the mystery of how to control the other guy."

This is nuts, this is - surreal. He tries to ignore how it feels like his chest is both on fire and going to float away any moment. "What? Injure one of his team mates? Guess that's progress, recognizing -"

Bruce's expressions sours the more he talks, until one of his hands lets go of Tony's and rises, before - THWACK. Stunned, Tony lifts his own free hand to his head. When he escapes his own shock, he starts another tirade. "What is this, is this our thing now? Hitting each other on the head? Is this NCIS?"

"You know, for a person who has such a high opinion of himself, you sure do have trouble taking sincere compliments."

"That's not - shut up."

Bruce's eyes shine brighter for a minute, before he breaks into a grin. "Hulk says Tony should stop smashing himself."

Tony snorts. "What, he talks to you now?"

"Apparently."

Tony glances down, noticing that one of his hands is still in Bruce's grip and that is both amazing and terrible because he loves the attention, the contact, but this is supposed to be awkward right? And he's supposed to not like it, or else Bruce will get suspicious, so he should totally do something, but he really doesn't want to.

Bruce must notice Tony glancing at his hand, because he looks down, too. "Come on," He starts, tugging on Tony gently. "Let's get this cleaned up."

"No need, really," Tony tries protesting. "Just a few scratches, I've had a hell of a lot worse - lots to do down here, anyway, so I should probably -"

"Get these cleaned before they get infected? Good idea." Bruce completely ignores him, pulling him along, and Tony can't bring himself to tear his hand away from that warm, gentle touch.

"I thought I was in charge here - y'know, the whole 'my house, my rules' thing," He replies.

"Just think of it like Star Trek. Kirk's the Captain, but Dr. McCoy's going to take care of him whether he likes it or not."

Stunned eyebrows rise high. "Did you just call me Captain Kirk?"

"Oh there's no doubt about it - you are a lot like Captain Kirk."

\----------------------------

Captain America is one hell of an artist.

Darcy's flipped through his sketchbook half a dozen times, and each time she's even more amazed. But it's not just the artistry, the talent - it's the psychology, too. Her poli sci degree didn't teach her much about Freud or anything, but it doesn't take a psych degree to see that Steve has some self-image issues. Every picture of his teammates is heroic, attractive, appealing; but in every picture he appears in, Steve draws himself as a scrawny little monkey. It sends a stab of pain through Darcy, and makes her fonder of him all at once. He's not just a hero, he's a human being, who can't even see his own greatness.

She's looking through it again when she hears a knock on the door, and immediately she fumbles to put it away. "Yeah? Come in!" She calls out, just as she's shoving it into a drawer. The door opens, and in flies Jane, all storm-like.

"Whoa, what the hell happened?" She can read Jane like a book, after more than a year by the woman's side. "Did an experiment fail? Or is Thor sick? Is it - " She runs over to Jane's side as the woman collapses onto the couch. They're in Darcy's room, which is larger than any house she's ever lived in. "Is it the zombie apocalypse? Has it finally come?"

A snort of laughter escapes Jane, and Darcy smiles at the small victory. But the remnants of tears stain Jane's cheeks, and the sight pains Darcy more than she can say. "No, it's - it's not zombies."

"Darn."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yup." Darcy sits on the couch next to Jane, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Now, spill. Something's happened, and if its not zombies, what is it?"

"It's..." Her hands cover her face, wiping at her cheeks. "Thor and I had a talk. He's - god..." Sighing, Jane drops her hands. "We never really talked about this - this thing, between us. It was all really fast, you know?" Darcy nods. Of course she knows; she was there for ninety percent of it. "Thor falling out of the sky, Loki trying to do us all in, Thor leaving - and months later he comes back, and then he has to go take Loki home again."

"Flash bang romance?"

Jane chuckles and nods. "Yeah. So, today - I found out he was trying to invite Steve into our relationship."

That's... what? Of all the things Darcy might've expected to cause a dispute between Thor and Jane, this is not it. "Say what now?"

"That's what I thought." She wipes at her eyes again. "Like I said, we never talked about - about what we expected, what we wanted from this. Sort've just... jumped in without looking. Apparently, in Asgard, everybody loves everybody."

Darcy feels like her brain is on a loop. "Say what now?"

"They're a - it's like a polyamorous, bigamist society. I think those are the right words." Jane sighs. "Which is - y'know, fine, just not - I didn't expect this. And I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it."

Slowly, Darcy nods. "Right. I'm guessing there's some surprise involved."

"Oh, definitely."

"Maybe some fear?" Jane nods. "Probably a dose of insecurity and uncertainty." Lifting her head, Jane meets Darcy's eyes and the woman feels her heart squeeze at the tender look in them.

"Darcy, what am I doing?" The woman's hands rise and get wrapped up in her hair. "I mean, I really like Thor, a lot, he is great - but I don't know if I can, if I can be with more than one person, I'm not even sure how it would work." Nervous laughter rises from her abused throat. "And Captain America, of all people? How do I compete with that?"

"Well..." Darcy adjusts her position, tries to ignore the backflips her stomach is doing. This is all kinds of fucked up - not Thor's culture, but this situation. Jane being the lover of a God who also loves the one and only Captain America, and Jane has the chance to maybe be with both of them, and here is plain old Darcy, foolish enough to ever think she ever had a chance against men like them. And on top of that, she's trying to give romantic advice to the girl she loves, so she can run off to be with said handsome, brilliant men. I'm an idiot. "For one, it shouldn't be a competition. However the relationship ends up, it's a - partnership, it's not a contest. All the people involved should be equally involved, however it's... arranged."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you end up with Thor, and Steve's also with Thor - kinda like a 'V', y'know?" She makes the shape with her hands. "Or it could be a triangle, everybody equally involved. Depends on what you're comfortable with, who you're attracted to. I mean... do you think you could like him like that? Cap, I mean."

"I - I don't know." A blush covers her face. "He's definitely a, uh, he's handsome. But I don't even know the man."

"You could get to know him."

Shoving the hair out of her eyes, Jane bites her lip, and Darcy's heart skips a beat. "Guess it's worth a shot. I mean - I told Thor I would try this out. It's his culture, I don't want to deny him that. I'm just... scared I won't measure up, or I won't be able to do it."

"If you can't, you can't, and Thor shouldn't hold that against you." Darcy shrugs. "But hey, good on you for trying to work it out with him. I'm sure he's really grateful."

Jane just glances away, towards the window. "God, I'm scared." She finally says after a while. "Thor's the first good relationship I've had in a while and I don't want to screw it up."

Slowly, Darcy reaches out and takes firm hold of Jane's hand. The woman spins back around, gratitude in her eyes. "Thanks, Darcy." She smiles brightly. "You're the best."

Darcy swallows around the lump in her throat, and tries her hardest to smile back.

\------------------------

Two hours later, the group is sitting around another conference table, in front of a computer screen that reveals Director Fury's face. His expression is a stern scowl, and Clint doesn't blame the guy - none of this is great news.

"Stark," The Director turns to Tony, and it is clear that this is not going to go well. Clint watches the inventor fume, as he probably already knows what Fury's going to do, just like Clint does. It's the logical decision, sure, but Tony's gonna chafe under it, and it's probably not going to work for more than five minutes.

"Hell no," Tony spits immediately, before Fury can say a word. "I'm not sitting this out."

"This is the third time in a few months somebody has tried to kill you, Stark." Fury shoots back. "We don't know how they're doing it, or why. Until we've got a handle on this, you need to stand down."

Tony looks like he's about to explode, and Clint automatically tenses up in reply. This is probably gonna get nasty. When he's angry and backed into a corner, Tony Stark has a habit of lashing out and tearing people to bloody pieces. Clint waits for the inevitable as Tony opens his mouth - until a hand comes down onto Tony's shoulder, squeezes tight. The man freezes. He glances to the side, to Bruce, who's looking at him with desperate, pleading eyes, and all the heat and anger drains from Tony promptly. He sinks into his seat, sighs and lets out a few curses under his breath, before giving a nod.

Wow. That's... wow. Clint's eyes dart from Bruce to Tony and back, stunned. He'd figured a while ago they were into each other - it was really fucking obvious - but this is practically a Christmas miracle. Tony Stark, agreeing to do something that will ensure his own safety, because Bruce Banner wants him to? Somebody give the big green guy a medal, because he has officially become the only human being who can actually make Stark care about his own damn health.

Fury's shock shows briefly in the widening of his eye, but it lasts barely a millisecond. "Romanoff," He turns to Tasha, who sits ready and waiting. "I've heard you've got intel for me."

"I do, sir." She pushes the diary on the table towards the center. "Xavier's diary. I have very little concrete information on Division X or what projects they were involved in during the Missile Crisis, but Xavier wrote of 'Erik' quite often."

"Does it say what power he has? His mutation?" Steve asks from the end of the table. Tasha shakes her head.

"He is very vague about abilities or any of his research - obviously attempting to protect his team. But he does say enough to give me a picture of who we're facing." She opens the diary, begins flipping through as she summarizes. "Erik is clearly a disturbed individual, even half a decade ago. Reclusive, anti-social, not a team player. He was a survivor of the concentration camps, bent on revenge against the man who tortured him during the war."

"... concentration camps?"

The room goes cold. Clint tastes a curse rising on his tongue but he holds it in.

"Wait, he doesn't -?" Tony, obviously confused, points towards Steve.

"Camps weren't liberated until 1944." Clint explains to him. "Steve here crashed in '43. He couldn't know."

"Know what?"

The Captain doesn't look happy that they're talking around and above him, but this - this is... Clint sinks a little in his seat. He is not the person to tell Captain America about what the Nazis were doing, about the extent of their darkness.

"Steve, maybe you should - uh," Bruce stands, his hand dropping from Tony's shoulder, where it had been resting for a good minute. Tony stiffens as it leaves him, and Clint almost laughs. They are so fucking obvious. "I think we should talk."

Steve, irritated and clearly confused, stands and follows Bruce out of the room. Poor bastard, Clint thinks. He doesn't envy either of them.

\------------------------

Natasha is halfway through explaining what she's deduced about Lensherr's mindset, about how he thinks and what he can do, when her phone rings.

It's been a hectic few days. She usually turns her phone silent during meetings, but she hasn't slept in two days, she's been running ragged on missions and taking care of the team, and - and she never called Pepper.

Pepper doesn't know.

A stab of self-loathing hits her right in the chest. What kind of person doesn't call their girlfriend first, doesn't think to tell her immediately when things go wrong, especially when it was Tony Stark who almost died, Tony Stark, who is practically Pepper's family? Her best friend and former lover? How could she not have told? And now, the woman has probably found out through someone else, through a second source, and is frantic with worry and wondering why her lover never told her, why her lover is keeping secrets - always keeping secrets.

"Agent Romanoff."

She hears the order in that statement. For just a second, Rachael Yamagata's Be Be Your Love keeps playing. It's one of Pepper's favorite songs. Natasha bought her the CD a few months ago, gave it to her on their two month anniversary, and Pepper had laughed at being given an actual CD. Natasha had been beyond embarrassed, though it had only shown in her eyes darting to the floor. But Pepper had loved it, kissed her for the first time that night, and set the CD on her desk, where it stayed.

"Romanoff."

She hits silent on her phone, clears her throat, and continues to debrief the team. She reminds herself how important this is, that lives are at stake, that she'll deal with the fail out of her failures at a later time. This is SHIELD business, Avengers business, and Natasha has never let her personal life get in the way of her duty.

It only takes twenty seconds for Tony Stark's phone to start ringing.

"Right," The man says, leaping to his feet. "Gotta go, important things to do, important business to ignore - 'sides, I'm on the bench, right? Don't need me, I'm sure you've got it -" He waves behind his back as he stalks off, already pulling the phone open, and even from her seat Natasha can hear her girlfriend's panicked voice, the shrill fear in her tone, and a sick wave of guilt rises up her throat.

\------------------

Tony skips dinner that night. Not a big deal, even though he's been eating with the "family" more times than not, recently. But what a fucking day, god what a day, and right now all he wants to do is sit in silence and pretend the world doesn't exist for a while, can he do that? Of course he can do that, he's Tony fucking Stark, he can do whatever he wants.

Except, apparently, purposefully wound himself and not expect a slightly overbearing, very caring doctor to help him. Cheeks flushing, Tony glances down at his bandaged hands and can't help but smile at remembering the gentle fingers dressing his wounds. Bruce had told him not to do it again, and Tony had been hard pressed not to say something back about how he wanted to be injured all the time, if this would be his reward.

Wow. God, he's an idiot.

He had it pretty bad for Pepper, but Tony would like to think he wasn't a complete sappy idiot. Right now? He's relatively sure Bruce has made him one. He feels all warm and fuzzy just from an hour of conversation and hand-touching, when just this morning he was a storm of rage ready to kill something. Okay, he's still angry. But there's this fog of joy smothering his darker emotions, his fear and ire, and every other minute he remembers Bruce's smile, his bright eyes, his laughter. It's hard to be angry with memories like that.

Tony is brought out of his thoughts when he stumbles into someone. He'd been heading down one hall towards the elevator, to head to his garage, while the stranger headed down the other hall, and at the intersection they bumped into each other. Stumbling and fumbling, Tony steps back, realizes he ran into one of Thor's friends, the shorter one, who is now kneeling on the floor collecting a book into her hands.

It's a sketchbook, he realizes, and it's fallen open upon a pretty damn good picture of Thor. "Damn," Tony says as the woman stands, and he grins at her. "Nice skill there, kid."

The woman laughs. "It's not mine. I was actually trying to return it to it's owner. You wouldn't happen to know where Cap is, would you?"

Tony's brain stalls. "... Cap? Like, the Cap? Captain America?" Not a second later, he's snatching the book from her hands, stepping away to flip through all the pictures.

"Hey, wait, - pretty sure this isn't a good idea! I mean, I did the same thing, but he barely knows me, so I don't think -"

He ignores her, a thrill of excitement running through him. Dirt on the Captain! He can't wait to see what this has. Maybe an imagined naked picture of Thor? Tony snorts. No, Steve's not like that. Maybe a few pictures of Tony being punched in the face? That's more likely. Smirking, he turns to the front and begins flipping through them, expecting... well, he's not really sure.

But he's damn sure what he finds is not what he thought he would.

Most of the pictures are of the team - quite a few are of Thor - and there are some of him too. They aren't insulting, or derogatory. They're... flattering. Pictures of him in the suit, flying over New York. Pictures of him laughing at dinner, or working in the shop. Tony smiling, Tony rolling his eyes, Tony asleep at the conference table. They're all true, all him, in all his facets. They're...

"God, these are good," He whispers, a little in awe of the way that Captain America has drawn him, that he's done so with such... respect.

He keeps flipping, seeing images of Natasha smirking over a cup of coffee, of Barton half asleep on the couch, of Bruce adjusting his glasses, of Thor in a thousand ways with a thousand expressions. He keeps waiting for the self portraits, for the one team member he hasn't seen yet... he finds Coulson, with paperwork, Fury standing all intimidating against a dark back drop... and... and...

Steve. Steve, as a monkey in a suit. Fumbling with Thor's hammer, stumbling in front of a laughing Tony Stark. Staring in shock up at Director Fury, sitting next to a portrait of all the Avengers standing proudly... while the monkey sits upon the ground, barely bigger than the shield.

God. This isn't - this isn't - "This isn't right," He whispers, and he keeps flipping, skimming over the pictures. Surely there's got to be a few, at least one - but no. There's monkies. Monkey, monkey, monkey, monkey failing to do this or that, monkey embarrassed, monkey ashamed, while all his team mates are drawn with careful attention and, dare he say it, love?

He can't help himself, he flips back, back to the picture that is now seared in his mind, that makes his throat go dry and makes it difficult to breath.

Little Monkey Steve is in the corner, curled up on himself, looking like he's just lost his favorite banana. In his hands is a cell phone, which by the look on his face, he's having trouble working with. But the worst part - the fucking clincher - is that Tony Stark is standing next to him, laughing. Hands on his hips, head thrown back, guffawing. And there are tears in little Steve's eyes. Worst yet, there are little patches of dried wet spots on the paper. Like the person who'd been drawing had been crying while he did it.

Tony stares. Stares in horror, in utter revulsion, repulsed by the implications, by the truth in this. Because he - he has laughed at him. Constantly. But Steve's an ass sometimes, Steve's a soldier with a stick up his butt, and Tony's laughter never mattered to Steve because Tony doesn't matter to Steve, Steve hates him, and that's why Tony - why Tony laughs, because it's his revenge, because if Steve is going to hate him, then Tony's at least going to attack back some how, going to give that stick-in-the-mud, backwards old man what for - he's... he's made Captain America cry.

"Fuck me."


	20. Hugged by the Hulk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers are sorted into houses and Steve receives a surprise.

It is only a few minutes after midnight when Clint suddenly finds himself being removed from the tree outside Coulson's room. He's been perched there a good hour, watching his old handler watch reruns of Supernanny, when he hears a sort've 'poof' like noise, the words, "Sorry, Clint!" And the next thing he knows, he's in Coulson's room. Panic rises up his throat but he swallows it down, and instead lets loose upon the blue skinned teenager standing next to him.

"Kurt, you traitor."

"He threatened me!" Kurt Wagner vehemently insists with a wave of his three-fingered hands. "He's scarier than the Wolverine, sometimes!"

Despite the nerves he's currently feeling, Clint can't help but laugh at that. "Oooh man, kid. All right, I'll forgive you so long as you tell Logan you said that."

"Not on your life." Another poof and the teen is gone, leaving Clint with the man he's been avoiding for the last week or so.

Silence descends - its not awkward silence, Clint insists to himself, it's just - tense. Serious silence.

"Clint."

Looking up to the ceiling, Clint prays to all the gods he doesn't believe in that in the next twenty seconds his phone will go off and alert him to a problem that needs avenging.

"You're avoiding me." He opens his mouth to start to lie. "Don't try lying, I know all your tells and tricks."

"You do, at that." He says with a sigh. Trying his best to make the serious situation more flippant, he flops down into the chair next to Coulson's bed and asks lackadaisically, "Did you miss me?"

"I did."

Clint stalls, taken aback, waaaay aback. "Uh, that's the part where you're supposed to make a joke to cover up your real feelings. Y'know, like how Stark does every time he's breathing? Something like, 'I missed you like a dog misses a tick,' or -"

Coulson has a funny look on his face. His arms are crossed over his chest, a light smile on his lips. There's more weight on his bones, and more color on his cheeks. He's getting better. "I don't feel much like playing games anymore. After everything -". He hesitates and Clint goes stiff. Loki's shadow, and Coulson's death, Clint's failure to save him - it all stands between them, creates the distance that Clint hates but knows is necessary. He doesn't deserve a second chance. "After all that's happened, all that's been lost, I don't feel like risking losing anything else."

All he can really do in response to that is falter, blinking rapidly. Where the hell is this going? "What are you talking about?"

"You're withdrawing." Coulson states. Clint opens his mouth and the ex-agent holds up a hand. "Don't deny it. For a while we were fine, but now you're pulling away."

Sighing, Clint runs a hand through his hair, cursing his goddamn rotten luck. Cursing the fact that Phil Coulson is so damn good at what he does. "Look, it's not - you didn't do anything -"

"I didn't say I did." Coulson sits up, and Clint has to fight the urge to make him lie back down and rest, knowing just how well the man would take it. "I know you, Barton. I know your thought patterns, your mentality. Right now you're bleeding guilt like an open wound." Unable to keep from flinching, Clint at leasts manages to keep his gaze level, fighting the urge to look away. "It wasn't your fault."

Suddenly he's standing, shoulders thrown back. "The hell it wasn't!"

"Is your name Loki?"

He still flinches at the name, even now. "No, but -" He scowls as Coulson interrupts him again.

"Loki is the one who stole your mind and used you to attack SHIELD. Loki is the one who stabbed me - not you."

Clint finally looks away at the verbal reminder, shivering head to toe either from anger or fear. He's struck suddenly by a memory: by the moment he'd first been told Phil Coulson was gone, when he'd first realized that the world would never be the same, that the sun had been snuffed out and it was his fault. His fault, because he wasn't there. His fault, because he enabled Loki. His fault -

"Stop it."

"Why the hell don't you blame me?" He seethes, fists clenched so tight his fingernails dig into his palms. "Half of SHIELD does. Why don't you?"

"If any SHIELD agent blames you, they're a fool - though, honestly, we have a few fools on the payroll, so perhaps you're right." It's Coulson's turn to sigh, and he does so as he turns to place his feet upon the ground. Immediately the tension in Clint's body melts into action and he bolts to the man's side, hands hanging in the air near him, ready to catch him but afraid to touch.

"You sure you should be standing yet?"

"I'm not, but I don't care." The man replies with a huff. "I'm beyond tired of resting." He stands, albiet on wobbly feet, and Clint remains just next to him, a mere inch between them. Being so close is a curse and a godsend - he feels the agonizing guilt even worse, being so close to him, seeing the way his bones poke out too much, how sallow his skin is, how dark the bags under his eyes are. Yet, standing next to him, it's a physical reminder that he's here, he's alive, that somehow the sun came back and his mistakes haven't been the undoing of one of the best men he's ever known.

He's lost in his own mind, consumed by the darkness of his thoughts, so he almost doesn't notice when a faintly trembling hand takes hold of his own. Then, his eyes snap up, and he meets Coulson's gaze just as the man places the palm of his hand flat over Coulson's chest - over his heart.

Silence. Not awkward, not serious. Just quiet, thick and laden with words unsaid. Clint's breath hitches in his throat and his eyes burn but not a single tear is shed. He just stares, stares at the thin white shirt separating flesh from flesh, and lets his calloused hand feel. Ba-bump, ba-bump. His heartbeat. Phil Coulson's heartbeat.

"Alive." Clint whispers, fingers curling against the cotton shirt, reflexively. This moment, this is a time he'll never forget, because no matter how much he's told himself Coulson's back, it's been almost impossible to believe. He never had proof the man died, never saw the body, but the agent's absence had been concrete enough. Coulson would never have left him out to dry, not for anything. So for months he lived without the man that he now knows holds his damn heart in his hands, had gotten used to the scalding pain and emptiness, the thickening cloud of guilt -

Ba-bump, ba-bump.

Coulson nods. His hand comes over Clint's, presses it down harder onto Coulson's chest. "I'm alive, Clint." He insists. "And when I wasn't? That was not your fault."

Anger strikes him again, anger at everything, at the fact that he had almost lost this, that no one, not even the man who should by rights despise him for his weakness, has the guts to tell it to him straight that he failed, that he allowed this to happen, that it's his fault - "Stop - !"

"Clint!" Phil's other hand rises to Clint's shoulder, shakes him. "You know me. I don't placate and I don't bullshit. If it were your fault I would tell you." It's true. Coulson always told him just what he thought, always spoke his mind with quick, direct quips that cut right down to the bone. "It was not your fault."

Clint's trembling again, or maybe he never stopped, and his head lowers, those unshed tears begin to escape, and if this were anyone else he would never allow this breach of his shields, of the guards around his soul. But this is Phil Coulson, who is miraculously alive, and who doesn't hate him, and doesn't want him to leave, but is lifting his hand from his shoulder up to Clint's neck, and pulling him closer -

He pulls Clint's head down to his shoulder and when they touch the archer lets out his first sob, and he cries, and cries, and Coulson holds on to him through it all, holds him tight, and never stops repeating those same words.

\-----------------------

In the past two hours, Steve Rogers has gone through at least five punching bags. It could be more; he's not sure. At some point, he stopped counting and allowed himself to be lost in the motions, the physicality of it. He became so involved that he didn't hear the door to the gym opening, nor did he catch the sound of footsteps crossing the room.

"Damn, Cap." A familiar, snarky voice quips. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Steve spins around, motion lost, something like surprise piercing through the veil of numbness that had enveloped his mind. It takes a minute to return to reality. When he does, he sees Tony Stark, standing across from him in jeans and a band tee shirt. His heart almost sinks at the sight of the man. His presence usually implies that trouble or a fight is on the way. At the moment, Steve's so tired he can barely manage to be annoyed.

"What do you need, Stark?"

He sees the man's eyebrows fly up, but he can't make himself feel guilty for being rude. He's at the end of his damn rope. If Stark wants to start something then, well, he's going to give the inventor a good reason to.

Tony just whistles. "Wow, Tasha told me you were bad off, but this is nuts."

It's Steve's turn to lift a surprised eyebrow. "I thought only Clint got away with calling her that."

"He is, but she's not around to stop me, is she?" Tony crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his typical bravado well in place. It's all Steve can do not to roll his eyes. Usually, he has the patience to deal with Tony. Usually, he can cut through the man's bullshit and see the value in having Tony as an Avenger. But usually, he's not dealing with a heap load of shit on top of the typical Avengers shit he has to deal with. "In fact, she might even let me get away with it while I'm on a dangerous rescue mission."

That catches Cap's attention. He lowers his arms and turns to Tony. "Rescue mission?"

Tony holds his hands up. "Don't get your star-spangled undies in a twist, I'm not actually going on a mission. I'm here for you."

He can't help but flinch slightly in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes sirree bob, because you are definitely in need of an assist before you crash and burn, not to mention drain us of our supply of punching bags." At that, Steve glances up at the chaos spread across the gym floor, the multiple decimated bags, and can't help but blush.

"... sorry."

Tony just shrugs. "Doesn't matter. I could buy you a punching bag supplier if you wanted, no big deal." That doesn't placate Steve's guilt; he should've been more in control, instead of letting loose and tearing the place apart like a child having a tantrum. "So, what's up?"

Steve steps back from the bag, starts to unwind the bandages on his hands, and as he does he levels Tony with a disbelieving stare. "What is this, Stark?"

"I told you, rescue mission," He replies with a slight smirk, unbothered by Steve's demeanor. The Captain frowns, trying to ignore the tension building in his chest. It is hard not to go on the defensive around Stark. Steve does like the man, he'd proven his mettle and he was a good guy, but that doesn't mean he isn't also damn hard to deal with. His wit is sharp and cuts to the quick, and this is one time that Steve just isn't in the mood for it.

"Look, Stark, I don't know what you're on about -"

"You only call me 'Stark' when you're upset." Tony interrupts, stepping in the way of Steve as he turned to head towards the locker room. "So. Elaborate. What's got you all twisted into knots?"

Steve falters, a little surprised at this. Tony usually cuts right to the chase, no sweet talk, and he never seeks people out to comfort them... at least, not if their name is Steve Rogers. This is unprecedented. And... weird.

"Look, St - Tony." Sighing, Steve holds his hands up. "I'm all right. Just had a bad day. But, uh... thanks." Though this whole scenario is strange, it is good that Tony's trying, and Steve wants to encourage that. Tony needs to be a team player for the Avengers to work, so he doesn't want to shut the guy down. He steps past Tony and moves towards the lockers.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

Great. Steve fights a groan even as he stops by the door. Tony Stark will never let a conversation end when he still has more to say. Usually, Steve would just let him run his mouth until he was done, but not today. No, today he just doesn't have the energy to let the man's ego run wild -

"What did I do wrong this time?" He spins round, finds Tony standing where he'd been a minute before, but now facing Steve. "Huh?"

"Not what you did wrong." Tony, unbothered, continues. "What you didn't know."

That stops Steve from retorting and letting loose of the fire in his belly. The comment doesn't make sense, but then, very little Stark says ever does. He blinks, confused, trying to reply, but before he can Tony starts to saunter towards him.

"See, I know about what happened with Thor and Jane - I think everybody in the damn tower does - and all of them are thinking you're freaking out over the sex thing. Three people? Oh no, alert the morality police!" He throws his hands up in mock fear. "They look at you and see this guy from seventy years ago and make these assumptions about your mind, your morality, but I don't think that's it."

That's really confusing. "You don't?"

"Nuh uh." Tony's halfway across the room, sticks his hands in his pockets. "Your time was different, sure, every time is, but the modern age didn't invent queer. There've been people like that - people like me, and I think you, too - since people have existed. And maybe you didn't get exposed to a lot of it, but I think you were exposed to enough."

Steve takes a deep breath, swallows, feels his throat go dry. "And why's that?"

"Cause I'm smart and I have eyeballs, Steve." Tony chuckles. "You were into Thor like that," He snaps, "and you didn't agonize over it, didn't panic, just accepted it. And according to dear old Dad," He gives a half-smirk, and there's pain in his eyes, like he hates talking about him but he's going through with it, anyway. "You didn't stand for it when anyone tried to give anyone else bigoted shit about who they were or who they slept with, including a memorable time a... friend... of yours was found with two guys in a hotel room."

Okay, that first deep breath wasn't enough. Steve takes another one. He remembers it well, the look on Howard's face when Steve had been let into his hotel room by the owner, who had clearly known what was happening and hadn't told Steve, probably hoping that the Captain would report them or arrest them or at least beat them up. Howard had been humiliated and Steve remembered thinking how strange it was that those bright eyes, usually so confident, had been so afraid. Steve hadn't told a soul.

"I'm surprised he told you that."

Tony shrugs. "It was a rare moment of candid truth between father and son - whatever." He waves it off, as if it's not important, when clearly it is. Steve would love to know what made Howard tell his son something so personal, so revealing. "It just proves my point. You already had experience with queer relationships, even if that's not what they were called back then. Plus, you're a pretty understanding guy, and if you've got a problem with somebody, you just out and tell them. If you were really bothered by Thor's orientation, you'd talk to him about it. And if this was just about his not telling you about Jane in the first place, you'd talk to him about that, too, and you'd probably forgive him in a lick because that's who you are. You're a step down from saint hood."

Scoffing, Steve turns and crosses his arms, face red. "That's not true."

"Your opinion on that is invalid." He's finally crossed the whole room, coming to stand in front of Steve. He claps his hands together. "So here's how I see it. Thor forgot to tell you something important, and that sucks, but you've forgiven him for that because it was an honest mistake. You aren't actually bothered by his orientation, because that would be a dick move and you've proven you're anything but that, plus you got a little experience in being queer and thinking outside the whole narrow cis-het box."

"Okay," Steve shrugs, going along with it. Tony's hard to stop once he starts, and Steve might as well allow him to spit his bullshit until he's done. "Then why am I upset?"

"Because you didn't know." Tony starts. There's a surprisingly serious look on his face. His arms are crossed, eyes narrowed. "Ever since you woke up, every day has been a day of asking 'what don't I know today'? 'What am I behind on right now'? It's been a constant game of catch-up, and it makes you feel like an idiot that there are five year olds more accomplished in today's tech than you are, that kids in school know more about the world than you."

Sharp, agonizing pain tightens his throat. "Screw you, Stark." He starts backing up, fighting the burn of tears.

"No, I'm not - listen to me!" Tony reaches out and grabs his shoulders, and forces him to stay, and no the grip isn't stronger than him but no matter how angry he is, he's not about to fight his way out of Tony's hold. "You're frustrated, and tired, and upset, because you've lost your whole damn world and everyone in it, and this new place is hostile and foreign and you spend every day being taken by surprise." He meets Steve's eyes, holds his gaze, and doesn't say a word about the tears building there. "Then, you meet Thor, who's in the exact same boat as you. And he doesn't pick on you, doesn't make you feel stupid, in fact, he think's you're fantastic. He likes you, and you think you like him. Then, suddenly, here it comes again - another surprise, another slap in the face from the 21st century. Well, from Asgard, but - you get it."

"So once again your ignorance has bitten you in the ass and you're embarrassed to not have thought to ask, you're angry that the one good thing you had going for you has turned out to be just like everything else, an exercise in pain and humiliation, and worst of all - worst of all," He shakes Steve a little, forces him to lift his eyes again. "You're terrified that if you do try this thing with Thor and Jane, that it'll happen again. That something will happen to prove how out of date you are, and maybe you'll lose the regard of the one guy who you really identify with and care about."

At that, Steve finally does pull away forcefully, and Tony stumbles as he does, but Steve can't care about that. He spins around, hiding his tears, shoulders stiff and pulled taut.

"What is your point, Stark?" He finally says through gritted teeth.

"My point," Tony replies quietly. "My point is - there is nothing you could do that would make Thor think less of you." Steve feels his chest tighten to the point of pain. "He's next to you in saintly-ness when it comes to being nice, I mean the guy forgave his fucking asshole of a brother and still loves him. I think he'll be forgiving if you can't use an iPhone or you don't know how to play a video game. He's not gonna hold it against you." He sighs, and Steve can hear him shuffling around. "I just mean - you've lost a lot. But the only way you'll lose Thor is if you let this fear keep you from him."

Steve doesn't turn around, doesn't move. The tears finally start falling when he hears the doors to the gym slam shut.

\-------------------------

That night, two new people moved permanently into the tower.

Pepper was the first; after having learned about what happened to Tony, and just how seriously close he had come to dying, she decided to simply stop ferrying back and forth between home and the mansion and move in. No one was against it, least of all Stark, thought they knew the addition of more civilians might put them in harm's way. Natasha met Pepper at the door around noon, and the woman fell into her arms as soon as the door opened.

Natasha, shocked, had frozen, unable to make her arms lift, but Pepper had just squeezed her tighter before leaning away and framing her face in her hands.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Then she kissed her, deep and long, and Natasha melted - in as much as Natasha Romanov melts. Her eyes closed, fingers twitched, and her face lost a little of that permanently serious expression. "Oh, god, to think that guy can get into the house and attack people - what if he goes after the other ordinary humans next? What if he -"

Natasha quieted her nervousness with another kiss. When they parted, Pepper hurried to grab her bags and tote them upstairs, and Natasha helped her, and nothing was said of the phone-call-that-wasn't. All seemed to be well, and the only crack in the facade was when Pepper and Tony reunited, hugging and (at least one of them) crying, and Natasha couldn't help but tense.

Later that night, Clint came home with Coulson, who refused to stay in a hospital bed a moment longer, and insisted he was just fine, thank you. That didn't keep every Avenger from being at his beck and call and constantly at his side, especially Clint. Coulson took it well, though he did become somewhat embarrassed when Captain America brought him his dinner on a tray (and Clint, in reaction, became a little frazzled and retorted to Cap's question of whether or not he was hungry with, "I'll eat when I damn well feel like it, Captain Mom!")

That night, the team settled down for another "family movie night", as they were being called by everyone but Tony, who refused to call them anything but "annoyances" and "wastes of my time". But Bruce always managed to drag him along, after a little poking and prodding.

Which is what he is currently doing, standing in Tony's lab.

"Tony, you are allowed to take breaks once in a while." Bruce insists, standing a few feet behind the inventor, who is tinkering with his computer.

"Sure, yeah, I'll be sure to get right on that once there's not a maniac with super powers trying to kill me."

Bruce sighs, stepping closer, his eyes darting over his friend's form. He's tense and covered in sweat, and by the look of him hasn't slept or showered in days. "Have you even left this room in the last seventy two hours?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony replies with a little snark. "For a - uh, a thing." Suddenly the victory in his tone became nervousness. "It was nothing, now if you don't mind I'm going to fix all this." He stands, and swipes his hands out, and suddenly whatever had been on the computer spins through the air and spreads over the empty space in front of Tony's desk, in a circular pattern. Bruce can't help it; no matter how long he hangs out with the man, Tony's genius continues to surprise him.

"What is this, Tony?"

"This," The man says, stepping around his desk. "Is everything we know, every clue we've got, all in one place."

Of course. Because when Tony sets out to do something, he really goes all out. Mouth agape, Bruce steps down with Tony into the center of the data collection, eyes roaming it. Tony's in the center, staring it down with his arms folded, a cross look on his face.

"I've been looking it over for hours. It ought to fit, there should be an answer, but -" Sighing, the man lifts a hand and wipes at his brow. "I can't see it."

Bruce, turning to face Tony, shrugs. "So, tell me about it. Maybe you'll see something new."

Tony spins, his eyes dancing over Bruce. The scientist can't help but stiffen under that gaze, which right now is dark and heavy. After a moment's hesitation, he nods. "Right. Okay. Stand here." He gestures to where Tony had been, and Bruce steps up. While he does, Tony approaches the circle.

"Three factions," Tony starts. He's pacing around the circle, eyeing data and pictures as he does. "Brought together by the Cuban Missile Crisis, split apart after it. We've got," He waves a hand, and as he says each name, their picture enlarges. "Xavier and his people, McTaggert and hers, and Lensherr and his." Tony then claps his hands together.

"They worked together, then there was some kind of fall out, and now they're fighting." Bruce adds.

Tony spins on him, gesturing with a pointed finger. "Yes, but why now? It's been forty years. What's different? What changed the playing field?" Tony gestures to the ring of data again. "It's got to do with us, somehow."

"Well, you seem to be the target." Bruce feels himself tense at the reminder.

"I don't think so." Tony shakes his head. "Think about Betty. She was a target because of her dad, and he was a target because of Division X. I don't think I'm the who they're really after - I'm a way of getting at somebody else." He spins, faces the data with a hand on his chin. "So, who am I related to? There's Stark Industries, but this isn't about business. It's not about some kind of ransom, or killing me for money, either. SHIELD doesn't care that much about me, and I've got no family left to target."

"Just the Avengers." Bruce considers. "So it's a message to us?"

"Maybe." Tony frowns. "But we're not all that's changed." He points across the way, to another picture. Bruce turns and follows his gaze.

"Coulson?"

The man's picture is highlighted. "Came back from the dead, didn't he? That's a new trick. And the government did a damn good job of keeping him hidden for a good while. Now, I've got to wonder... who in the government?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "You think it was Division X, don't you?"

Tony smirks and walks past Bruce, patting his shoulder as he moves. "This is why you're my favorite." Even though it's said lightly, Bruce can't help the flood of joy that fills him. He's coming to realize that maybe being important, being Tony's "favorite" means a lot to him, and he's not sure what to do with that information.

"What's Division X?" Tony moves to his desk, and plops down on the edge. "They were a group of humans and mutants working together to stop the Cuban Missile Crisis, and whatever other shit was going on then. But they split up. Why do you think that was?"

Bruce shrugs. "Difference in opinion of how to handle their mission?"

"Hmm..." Tony shakes his head. "The way the group split is too specific. The government - the humans - were left high and dry by the two mutant groups. Clearly, they didn't like what was going on. So, what's Division X been doing since? The one thing we know for sure is that Ross was involved. And where there's Ross...?"

Bruce swallowed, and felt a little anger bubble up. Nothing he couldn't handle. "The Hulk."

Tony claps, a pleased look on his face. "The Hulk! So why is a guy desperate to hunt down one of the world's most powerful genetic anomalies working with people whose jobs consist of dealing with people with mutations?" Tony looks past Bruce, to Coulson's picture. "For the same reason why those same people would be interested in a human who suddenly gained a few Asgardian traits and came back from the dead."

"Genetic anomalies." Bruce replies, stepping up to stand beside Tony at the desk. All he plans to do is stand, until Tony lifts an eyebrow and pats the space beside him. He doesn't say anything, just smirks and waits, and finally Bruce sighs and moves to sit next to him, fighting a blush. "And they were experimenting on those mutants in that base in California."

"Exactly." Tony says. "The Hulk, Coulson, and mutants. They're looking into people with powers."

"The Avengers, too?"

"I don't think so. McTaggert all but told me the Avengers didn't matter to her. No, I think it's the other side targeting us."

"Lensherr? The 'Brotherhood'?"

"Yup." Tony gestures in the air, and the data shifts. Erik Lensherr's face from the photograph, and what little they know of him, comes to the fore front.

"Why?"

Tony fidgets, fingers drumming on the table. "Dunno. That's the part I haven't figured out yet. And I still have no idea how he's managed to pull half the shit he's pulled."

They sit in silence for a moment, staring up at the data, barely an inch apart. Bruce is painfully aware of the distance, of every minuscule movement on Tony's part. The way his brow crinkles in thought, how he fidgets with his hands, the way he seems to never stop moving. It would only take a second, just a slightly movement to the right, and they'd be touching. It's harder to stop himself from reaching out than it should be.

"Well," Bruce finally says, lifting his head. "You don't have to solve it tonight." He fights the urge for a moment, then simply gives in, and places his hand on Tony's shoulder. "Come out of the lab for a bit. At least to eat!"

"Ugh, fine!" Tony let his head fall back, but didn't argue it much. He stood as Bruce did, and followed the man out.

\---------------------------

"Obviously, Thor is a Gryffindor."

Thor, hearing his name, is jolted from his thoughts, and lifts his head. "Pardon?"

The group is gathered in the mansion's movie room, moving in with plates and trays of food and drink, settling down to start Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The Potter movies please Thor; they are intriguing, and show a great array of virtue and heroism. He much approves of Harry and his friends. When they grow up, they will certainly be great heroes indeed.

But tonight, Thor finds it hard to think of the film, or anything else but the worries which lay heavily upon his heart.

"That's a no brainer." Clint climbs over the back of the couch on the left and plops into his seat with a can of beer. Coulson, next to him, watches disapprovingly, but says nothing as Clint smirks at him. Thor is very happy to have the son of Coul back among them, in better health. He hopes the man's presence will be a boon for his teammate, the Hawkeye, as well. "That's like saying Bruce is a Ravenclaw, it's obvious."

Bruce, at that, smiles, as he takes his seat next to Tony. "You're probably right. What about you?"

Clint looks thoughtful for half a second, but before he can speak, Coulson replies for him. "Gryffindor." Clint, somewhat surprised, turns to his friend, and Coulson meets his eyes evenly. "You are exceptionally brave and have a singular talent for leaping without looking and putting the safety of other's before yourself." A slight blush comes to Clint's face, and Thor laughs brightly.

"Welcome to the house of heroes, my friend!" He cheers. Clint, glancing towards him, grins, and lifts his hand. Ah! It is the air high five which friend Tony taught him of! Thor lifts his hand, and they both do the motion, and he begins to feel a little better.

The past few days have been an exercise in foolishness. Poor Jane and Steve have had to suffer for his own ignorance, and every day Thor berates himself for not thinking. Midgard is different - more so than he ever thought - and he cannot allow himself to become comfortable and forget that he does not belong here, that the ways of the people here are vastly different. The thought is a somber one, and as he thinks it, he can't help but glance across the room at Steve Rogers, who is entering now with his dinner plate.

"Okay, your turn, Cap." Clint calls out as Steve sits next to Coulson, on his other side. "Which house?"

Steve, at that, sits up straighter and turns a light shade of red. "Um... I don't..."

"Hufflepuff."

"Gryffindor."

Tony and Bruce speak at the same time, and then turn to look at each other. Indignation clear on his face, Tony starts up. "Come on, he's the bravest guy there is, it's obvious!"

"He tried five different army recruiting stations in five different cities before he was accepted. And he went behind enemy lines, by himself, to rescue a friend. If that's not dedication and loyalty, I don't know what is."

"Yeah, but -"

"Tony, accept defeat graciously." Natasha, coming out of the bathroom, sits upon the arm of the couch next to Clint. "He's a Hufflepuff."

Steve, who has been turning brighter and brighter red, finally coughs. "What about you, Natasha?"

"Slytherin."

Five people spoke as one, then; Thor's not sure who spoke, exactly, but knows at least two of those voices were the son of Coul and Natasha herself.

"Jane's a Ravenclaw," Darcy calls out. She's on the floor in front of the TV again, which appears to be the spot she has permanently claimed for herself. Jane, next to Thor, has her mouth full but nods fervently. "And I don't know what the hell you are, Coulson, no idea honestly."

Clint and Natasha share mischievous looks, which Coulson seems to ignore as he continues eating as if they aren't talking about him with their eyes. "It's confidential." His eyes are smiling, and they seem to brighten even more when Clint elbows him with a chuckle.

"What about me?" Tony leans back, gesturing to himself. "Hello? We've sorted the whole team but one. I feel left out."

"Slytherin, obviously," Clint starts with a smirk. Thor recognizes the tone as 'sarcastic', something his mortal friends are very fond of. He's gotten quite good at recognizing it. "You're a pompous rich kid after all, right? Draco Malfoy 2.0."

Thor turns to Tony, and to his surprise, does not see the usual playful look which indicates the man is going to reply with his own jokes, as he and Clint often do. He looks... resigned. Nods, shrugs, and lets his head fall. Thor realizes he means to accept the label of 'pompous rich kid' as his definition and feels anger rise in his chest, for Tony Stark is a valiant and selfless man who is much more than that - but before Thor can leap to his defense, someone beats him there.

"Are you kidding?" Bruce Banner looks slightly irate, though not at Clint. He's looking at Tony, with specks of green in his eyes. Tony, perhaps startled by the true irritation in the tone, looks up at his friend. "You are not a Slytherin. And you're nothing like Malfoy."

"As a Slytherin myself I completely agree." Natasha interjects. Tony, sitting up, looks baffled.

"But I'm a -"

"I've known you the longest of the Avengers, Tony Stark, don't deny my authority."

"And I've known you even longer." Pepper, who had been on the phone out in the hallway, enters the room. "You are not a Slytherin, not even close. Not that Slytherin's bad or anything." She looks to her lover, who smirks back at her. "It's just not you."

Tony looks truly confused.

"Tony," Bruce turns towards him. "You're not Draco Malfoy, okay? You're one of the bravest and most selfless people I know. You could have any life you want with the money you have, but here you are risking your life for strangers and letting a bunch of homeless misfits live in your house. You put everyone else before your own safety, you give and give and never think to take for yourself, and you use your amazing intelligence to help other people. I'm torn between calling you a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw, but you are not a Slytherin."

"Oh, come on, are you really going to tell me you don't think I'm a bully?" Thor watches the anger, the loathing on Tony's face, and realizes it is not directed at any of the others, but that it is directed inward. As he says 'bully', his eyes flicker to Steve.

Steve seems to catch the motion, or perhaps simply knows the line of thought is related to him. "I don't think you're a bully, Tony."

That catches his teammate off guard. Tony flounders. "Uhh... what? I don't -"

"Bullies pick on people because they think they're better than them." Bruce says. He looks to Steve, and Steve nods in agreement. They both have had experience with bullies, and the thought angers Thor. He wishes he could have been their for them, for his friends... especially for Steve. "You pick on people because you think they're better than you, and that hurts you, and when you're hurt, you... you lash out."

The whole room is silent. Tony is so stiff, so tense, that it looks as if he might hurt himself. Bruce, too, seems a little taken aback by just how much he's said, and is watching Tony as if he might run away any moment.

"Okay! Movie time!" Pepper starts up, moving to sit next to Tony. "Now, JARVIS, movie, now!" She wraps an arm around Tony, and the man loosens a little, but he still appears as if he might throw up.

Thor, feeling a little off kilter himself, turns to watch the movie. The room is no longer relaxed and peaceful, now the air is almost thick with tension. He feels bad for friend Tony, but what Bruce said was the truth. Thor knows not why Tony thinks so little of himself, but he should not. Tony Stark is a great man.

Just as the movie begins to roll, as the opening music begins, Thor hears voices again. They are quiet; if not for his senses, somewhat stronger than a mortal's, he may not have heard them.

"Come on, Bruce," He hears Tony whisper to his friend. "You know I'm not actually a hero. I'm not - I'm not a good person."

Bruce says nothing; for a few moments, there is no reply. Thor waits, eager to hear his friend reject the statement, but instead what he hears is the groan of cracking wood.

"What the - OH FUCKING HELL!"

Thor spins round - most of those in the room do - to see that Bruce is now twice as large as he had been a moment ago. Pepper is scrambling to get off the couch which is quickly succumbing to the Hulk's weight, and Tony is as well, but he doesn't get far. A big, green hand reaches out and wraps around his waist, pulling him back. Thor leaps to stand, unsure of what to do or what is happening, so he simply watches and waits.

The whole room is on its feet, watching with mixed expressions of fear, confusion, and surprise, as the Hulk grows to full size, plops down on the broken couch, and makes Tony sit on his lap.

"Tony is not a bully!" Hulk suddenly shouts to the room so loud that everyone winces. "Tony is a good person! Now Tony shut up and watch movie!"

"Hulk -"

"SHUT UP AND WATCH MOVIE!"

Everyone takes the order to heart, sitting back down and turning to the film. Thor and Steve both hesitate to do so, watching for a moment the two in the back of the room, but it quickly becomes clear that the Hulk has no objective other than to hold Tony. Tony is squirming, embarrassment coloring his face red, but he's not actually in any danger. The Hulk's hold is just strong enough to keep him, and isn't actually hurting the man.

"This is ridiculous, Hulk, come on! I can sit by myself -"

"Tony stay until Tony apologize to Tony."

"What the hell are you on big guy? The fuck is this?"

"APOLOGIZE TO TONY."

"ACK! Okay, fine, I'm sorry! I am sorry to myself, sorry self, are we good now?"

"Tony not mean it. Tony still stay."

"Oh damn it all to hell!"

The room finally falls silent, and the movie keeps playing. Thor slowly sits back down, sharing a stunned look with Jane, and a moment later there is a click.

"Whoever took that picture is going to be sued to hell and back."

"That's okay," Darcy replies. "I've already sent copies to everyone's cell phones."

A chorus of dings and rings goes through the room, and Tony lets out a big, long groan. "I hate all of you."

No, he does not, Thor thinks with a smile. Because we are his family now, and we care for him, even when he does not care for himself.

\--------------------

It's near midnight when the movie is over, and Steve finds himself hanging back as the room vacates. He's nervous, fidgeting, and half wants to just leave and not do this. But he's not a coward, and he knows he has to face this, whether or not he wants to. Better now, than in a dangerous situation later. He'll regret it if he puts it off any longer.

So, when Thor stands to leave with Jane, he approaches them both, wringing his hands in front of him. "Uh, hi," He starts, his voice a little breathy. Thor jumps, seeming very surprised, and it hurts Steve to see the shock on his face. His friend shouldn't be surprised that they're talking. The fact that it ended up like this is completely his fault.

Jane recovers faster than Thor, and smiles at Steve. "Hi there. What's up?"

"I was uh," He gulps. "I was wondering if maybe we could talk? Somewhere privately?" He glances to Thor. "All three of us?"

Thor and Jane share a look. The warrior looks really nervous, which is a look Steve never thought he'd see on Thor, but Thor nods. "Lead the way... friend Steve."

Hearing that title again makes Steve's heart rise a little, and something like hope fills his chest. He turns and leads them to his level of the mansion, and then to his room. He pushes the door open and stands aside to let them in, when he hears Jane gasp.

"Wow!" She seems really in awe, which is strange. His room is nothing much, just a bed and a desk to draw on. He turns and -

Steve's mouth falls open.

His room is crammed full of artist's supplies. There's a new desk, twice as big as the last one, and this one has some kind of computer on it, and a thing he recognizes from what little research he did on futuristic artist techniques as some kind of tool to draw on the computer. More than that, there are stacks of sketch pads, canvases, drawing paper, and boxes of charcoals, pencils, paints, brushes, and rows upon rows of erasers.

Steve stumbles into the room, awe struck, and every time he turns around he sees something new - some special brand of tool, some neat new device, - there's a new bookcase in the corner holding all his things, and a - a scanner in one corner, he remembers reading that those put pictures on the computer, and there's - there's so much -

"What is all this?" Steve's knees feel weak, so he lets himself lean against the bed.

"Steve," He hears Thor, and turns. The man is standing at his desk, holding something. He walks over to Steve and the Captain quickly takes it from him.

Thought you might want to try something other than pencil sketches. Just one request: an inspirational figure in red, white, and blue. Make it big.

Attached to the note is his sketchbook, the one he'd lost. It's so obvious who did this, who's behind this, and why, Steve can't believe it, there are tears in his eyes, and he's standing to move towards the door -

\-------------------

Tony throws him a replacement shirt and it lands on his head. Bruce snorts. "Come on, you can't still be mad."

"You did that on purpose." The inventor retorts. They're in the main kitchen, down the hall from Tony's workshop, where the man had gone to find Bruce replacement clothes. "You told me just yesterday that you and the big guy were getting on better, that you had more control. You let him do that."

Bruce should deny it, but he can't really. He pulls the shirt on and lets Tony continue to ramble.

"You're teaming up against me, the both of you are traitors -"

"It's not my fault." Bruce insists with a smile, approaching his friend. "The Hulk just doesn't like hearing people say bad things about his friends."

At that, Tony huffs, blushing, and crosses his arms. "Yeah, right, because you had nothing to do with that." His eyes finally lift, and Bruce can see that he's okay with this, that he's adjusted, that while he'd been embarrassed and upset earlier that he's moved on, and they're okay. Silently, he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Well, honestly," He starts. "I don't like hearing people bad mouth you, either."

"Even if it's me?"

"Especially if it's you." They stare each other down, mock anger in their eyes, before bursting into chuckles.

"This is ridiculous." Tony says through his laughter. "The Hulk just hugged me into submission, I can - I cannot deal with this, it's too much."

"Sir -" JARVIS starts.

"Not right now, JARVIS, whatever it is can wait, I am so done for today." He sighs, wiping his hand across his forehead. "Hugged by the Hulk. And there are pictures of it. If Fury sees any of those I will never live it down."

Bruce laughs in reply. "You'll never live it down, anyway."

"Sir," JARVIS continues. "You did tell me -"

"Come on, JARVIS!" Tony looks up to the ceiling. "We're having a moment here!"

"You asked me to warn you if -"

Suddenly, they can both hear footsteps pounding heavily across the floor down the hallway, and Tony tenses right up. "Oh, shit," and then he bolts, heading towards the other hall, but just as he does, Steve bursts into the room. For a minute Bruce wonders what the hell's going on and if he needs to intervene, but then he sees the utter joy on Steve's face and the tears brightening his eyes.

"No, Steve!" Tony, seeing that the hall is not an option, runs to the dining table and puts it between him and Steve. "Just - no!"

"Tony, you -" His voice is wobbly and he looks like he might really start bawling.

Tony holds up both hands. "I get it, you're grateful, that's nice, but I have - " Steve is starting to move around the table, just as Tony moves the other way. "It's - thanks are not necessary. You can just - just stop right there," Steve's not stopping, and Tony is running out of table. There's no way he's going to out maneuver a super soldier without the armor, anyway. "Let's not with the emotional stuff and -"

Steve moves, and Tony spins around with a squawk and tries to run, and gets all of nowhere fast. Steve's arms wrap tight around him and practically lift him off the ground, and yep, Steve's crying, and Tony is stiff and looks vaguely constipated.

"Steve - Steve, I have boundaries, and I don't feel things, I've told you guys I'm allergic to emotions, so can we - let's not - you're getting tears on my clothes, this is -"

"Thank you so much!" Steve probably heard none of that, and Tony seems to realize it, and just goes limp. Bruce can't hold back his laughter anymore, he's laughing so hard he's probably crying, and then Tony's calling out to him.

"If you dare take a picture, I swear to God -"

There's a click. Jane, who entered with Thor just a moment after Steve, has her phone out. Tony hears the sound and Bruce watches him go red, and laughs even harder. Yup, this is his life now, living with these people and spending half his time as a enormous green rage monster.

It's not so bad a life, after all.


	21. Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemy finally shows himself, and the curtain rises on the final act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that fun, fluffy chapter, because this is the chapter where fun and fluffiness dies. :D The end is nigh, my darlings - grab your tissue boxes.

Natasha Romanov has been many things.

Most of those things, she loathes to think of, and speaks of to no one. They're the past. She'll always be working to clean her ledger, to cleanse herself, but she doesn't dwell on what can't be undone. She works towards the future, towards building something new, and most recently, towards the Avengers.

For a long time, the only future she could imagine was her work at SHIELD. It was fulfilling - meaningful. She was adding to the world instead of taking away, even if that sometimes meant taking lives. She was on the good guy's side, for once. Of course, no matter how much she shoved it to the back of her mind, her past was always right behind her, a shadow following along in her footsteps. She had to work three times as hard for the trust and recognition she deserved, and even after she won it, she never stopped pushing herself. SHIELD was everything. She couldn't afford to lose it.

Because of SHIELD, she met Barton, or perhaps more correctly, she joined SHIELD because she met Barton. Either way, her job and the first true friendship she'd ever had were intricately tied, and she became as devoted to Clint as she was to her work. He, in turn, watched out for her, stood up for her. No one had ever done that before.

They were the perfect team, complimenting each other's weak spots, bringing out each other's strengths. She trusted Barton, and that was a hell of a lot more than she gave anyone else. Even Coulson, who she came to care for over a great deal of time, and Fury, who she at least respected if not trusted, did not reach the level of comradeship she had with Barton.

Life was good. She had the job, she was making up for the past, and there were a handful of people that might actually give a shit if she vanished into the night. It was nothing to write home about, but it was something. It was better than before, than the shadows and pain of her former life. SHIELD brought her out of the darkness.

But the Avengers are the ones who gave her back the light.

Natasha trusts the Avengers - damn it all, but she does. For all that she tried not to let them under her skin, they wormed their way under there. She's... endeared to them, dammit. It's hard to live with someone, to see them at their most relaxed and most human, and not become that way.

Thor, peering into an empty poptarts box as if there might be some hiding somewhere, shoving his big hands in the tiny box. Tony, half drunk from exhaustion, trying to make coffee with his eyes closed. Bruce, talking to himself when he's "alone", his eyes flashing green as the Hulk responds in his head. Steve, curled up in an arm chair, drawing. Barton, being... Barton.

When Coulson made the call and told her the Avengers Initiative was a go, that Barton was comprised and the world needed a team of heroes, she did her duty. She found the team, and she brought her man back. She even worked with them to bring down an alien invasion. But it was just part of the job. Then, months later, she actually moved in with them - again, because of the job, because Tony was in danger and needed her.

Now? Well... somewhere along the way, it stopped being a job.

She knows this for sure because she's standing in her bedroom in the mansion considering betraying everything she's stood for since her old life ended. Since she joined SHIELD, she's never disobeyed a direct order from Fury; not one that mattered, not one like this. She's always put the job, put the mission first. In her effort to prove she belonged, that she deserved to be an agent, she followed every order to the letter, often at her own expense.

And here she is, considering throwing all that away, for a guy who loves poptarts, an insomniac inventor, a nutty doctor, an old-fashioned artist, ... and Barton.

The thing is? She actually thinks it might be worth it.

"Tasha?"

Natasha spins around; Pepper is sitting up in their bed, still half asleep, hair mussed. It's a good look on her. Smiling slightly, Natasha turns. "You should be sleeping."

But Pepper's already standing. "You okay?" She asks, rubbing her eyes. "You've been kinda strange today." She approaches, and Tasha fights her instinctive urge to create distance, to create walls, to keep boundaries between herself and everyone else.

"I'm fine."

"Liar." Pepper smiles, and Natasha feels her heart flutter a little. What they have, they'd had for a few months, but it's already more than Natasha has had with anyone, her whole life. It means more, too. And though she wouldn't call it love - because love is for children - and she knows for certain they haven't been involved long enough for it to be anything... substantial, she thinks it could be. Worries gnaw at her, concerns quake her heart, and Pepper's eyes narrow. "Seriously. What's wrong?"

Natasha turns her head, forces herself to stay but unable to keep eye contact. "Another mission." She's quiet, doesn't speak, and she can tell by the way Pepper's hands tighten that the woman is frustrated. Natasha wishes she could be more open, could be revealing, and in that way she envies Stark. For all that he keeps shit bottled inside, he sure can let it loose when he wants to. She can't even do that.

A hand cups her cheek, and she lets it turn her head. "You know I don't blame you for not picking up, right?" She tries to keep the recognition, the guilt, from her eyes. Apparently she's out of practice, or Pepper has gotten scary good at reading her. "I get it. I've got a job too, you know, I won't always be able to pick up the phone."

Swallowing, Natasha replies, eyes darting downward. "I should have told you about Tony, from the start -"

"You had bigger problems to deal with then, like a really freaked out team."

And that's the crux, right there. If she'd been doing her job, she would've called Pepper Potts, Tony's only real family besides Rhodey, and wouldn't have been preoccupied with being with the team, with comforting and being comforted by these people who she knew now were more than friends. They were her family. Agents didn't have the luxury of family.

"But that's not the real problem, is it?" Pepper crosses her arms. "Or maybe it's just part of it?"

Natasha turns, paces away. She needs space for this. For a minute, she struggles with the words. "When SHIELD assigned me to the team, I - it was another mission. An assignment. I was a SHIELD agent doing my job."

"And now?"

"Now... now I'm a SHIELD agent, and I'm an Avenger." She starts, and once she's going the words just keep bubbling up. "Now I've got these numbskulls who barely know how to take care of themselves trying to integrate with each other and messing up the whole time, and people who are trying to kill them, when they're already pretty good at getting themselves nearly killed. I've got people here who call me 'Natasha', not 'Agent' or 'Romanov' or whatever false name I'm using, they - they care. The Avengers - it's personal. But I'm a SHIELD agent, and the Avengers and SHIELD don't always mesh. I knew, I knew when this started that one day something would happen and I'd -"

"You'd have to choose."

Natasha hesitates, throat dry. "I'd have to choose." She confirms.

"Is that day today?"

She gives a firm nod, doesn't trust herself to speak. She can't believe she's doing this, but she is, and she's certain now of her choice even though it's nuts, it's the stupidest thing she's ever done but it also feels so right.

"So, what's your choice?"

She doesn't hesitate this time.

"JARVIS, wake up the Avengers. We need to have an emergency meeting."

\-------------------------

When JARVIS "wakes up" the Avengers, Tony isn't actually asleep.

He doesn't sleep much, normally, but nowadays he is truly pushing the limits of how much sleep a human body can go without. There's too much to do to allow for sleep. So much has gone wrong, is still going wrong, and he's the big fucking liability here. The one everyone's trying to protect, the one that's screwing the fuck up. He's got to fix this.

These Division X people, they - they imprisoned and experimented on Coulson, and now they were probably doing the same to Xavier, and the Brotherhood were no better, they could easily get in his house and attack him, what if they targeted somebody else next? What if they got to Bruce before he could transform, or they managed to get Clint or Natasha off their guard, or - or -

"Sir," JARVIS interrupts then. "Agent Romanov requests the presence of the team at an emergency meeting."

'Emergency' catches his ears. He glances at his work, at the research he's doing, and figures it will wait. If something's happened, he needs to be there. He may be their weak spot right now, but damned if he's not going to do his best to pull his weight.

So he leaves the workshop, heads to the room JARVIS has pinpointed as the meeting's location, and sinks into one of the seats. He won't admit how good it feels to sit in something with a soft back as opposed to his workshop chairs. He should really find time to make those more comfortable, when everything calms down. Because it will calm down. He will fix this.

It takes a few minutes for everyone to gather. Thor is, gratefully, in pants, and he comes in with Jane and - and Steve? Apparently also Steve. Who's in pants. Everyone's in pants, so that's good. That's great. Everything is great. Tony is not imagining his teammates naked, at all, nope.

Steve must catch his gaze, because he flushes bright red. "Tony! It's - it's not like that!"

Thor, catching on, turns to Tony. "Ah! Friend Tony believes that we have been intimate together!" Both Jane and Steve go brick red at that. "As fantastic as such an experience most certainly would be, tis not so. We were performing the Midgardian ritual of the sleepover!"

"The what now?" Clint, coming in from the ceiling (somehow?) drops into a chair and perches on it, like his namesake. Coulson is, magically, already sitting in the chair next to him, and Tony never saw him walk in. Sneaky sneak.

"Jane believed it would assist us to come to an understanding, and so we decided to bunk together and spend the evening in discussion! It was a most enlightening experience."

Steve's face is in his hands, and Jane seems to be torn between laughing and throwing up. Funny, Tony feels about the same.

Then Natasha walks in, and the room goes cold.

She doesn't usually have that effect, all her distance and carefully-contained malevolence aside, so something is seriously up. Tony tenses, feeling the void of knowledge filling with all his worries and fears.

"What happened?" That's Steve, his commanding tone filling the room. Natasha stands at the end of the table, looks down across all of them, and there's something strange, something unusually... unguarded about her eyes. She looks over everyone, and then her eyes settle on Tony.

"I just received new orders from Director Fury. Barton and I are to go on a mission." Barton perks up, as if this is the first he's heard of any mission.

"And that mission is?" The archer asks.

Natasha's eyes don't leave Tony. She opens her mouth to speak - and says nothing. She hesitates, and that is so completely, totally unlike her, that Tony is suddenly very afraid. He is terrified and she hasn't said a word.

"I'm sorry, Tony." She finally manages to say. "They've taken Rhodey."

\------------------------

James Rhodes should know by now that being friends with Tony Stark is just asking for a world of pain. Really, he should have learned his lesson, yet he keeps coming back for more.

Of course, he had no idea he was walking into a trap when he returned to base. He didn't even have enough time to try to escape before they were on him, but luckily enough, he did get a slight warning.

He'd been walking to the general's office to give his report when a strange recruit he'd never seen before had suddenly walked up to him.

"I'm a SHIELD agent," They'd said without prompting, suddenly walking so close to him, they were touching. The agent's hand darted up his sleeve, touched his skin, and he felt a horrid burn for all of five seconds. "Name's Agent Hill. I'm sorry, but we couldn't keep them away from you long enough. They're going to take you, but we've got people already on their way to get you. You won't be with them long, I promise."

She left before he could even get a look at her, and then he was at the general's office, being taken by a bunch of government men in suits, and now he's here, in a jail cell.

"Thank you, Tony Stark," He mutters, slumping against the wall.

He knows why he's here - he's leverage, for Tony, he's sure of it. The man's been poking and prodding into all this shit for weeks, and now it's coming down to the wire. He must be getting close to something, or else Division X is close to their own goals, because now they're trying to find ways to delay Tony, to distract him. They don't know him very well. Taking his best friend is only going to make him more determined to beat them.

"Somebody there?"

Startled, Rhodes turns his head, and glances into the cell next to him. "Yeah? Uh, who's there?" He stands, moving to the door, but there's no way he's going to be able to see this person.

"Name's Alex Summers. You?"

"James Rhodes." He knows that name. "You wouldn't happen to be an acquaintance of Prof. Xavier's would you?"

"Yeah," Alex confirms. His voice is hoarse, and he sounds tired. "You a mutant, too?"

He shakes his head, then realizes how dumb that is. "No," He says, "I'm a friend of Tony Stark's."

Sharp laughter, tinged with pain, is the reply he gets. "Too bad for you."

"Yeah, well," Rhodes looks around his cell, then lets his hand drift to his wrist. The 'burn' on his arm is gone, but he can feel something, a raised bump. Maybe a tracer. "He got me into this mess. He'd damn well better get me out of it."

Granted, he's not going to sit on his ass and wait to be rescued. He's at least going to attempt to get out of here somehow.

"So, Summers," Rhodes slides to the floor again. "Want to tell me what the hell this is all about?"

"Sure," Summers shoots back. "Might as well die with all the cards in your hand, right?"

Rhodes manages to keep his breathing even. "Right."

\-----------------------

Darcy didn't expect anyone to be awaiting her at the front door. She'd already made her goodbyes to the people who mattered, to the ones who cared. But when she approaches the front door with her bags in hand, she finds Agent Coulson awaiting her.

"Thought you were heading out?"

"I am." He says firmly. "Agents Barton and Romanov begin their mission at 0800."

"I have to say I'm impressed you managed to finagle you're way into that." She chuckles a little, and thinks maybe his eyes are smiling back. Watching him at that emergency meeting only last night, insisting that he go along with Barton and Romanov, had been nuts. Somehow the three of them were going to single handedly rescue the people Division X took, and she doesn't envy them the job. "Y'know, you did just get out of the hospital. Maybe you should lay low."

"My people are in jeopardy." He states evenly. "I won't sit by while their lives are in danger."

Slowly, Darcy nods. "Fair point."

He nods, and then his eyes drift to her bag. "Going somewhere?"

"Going home." She starts to move away from the front porch, towards the cab she called. "I did have a life, y'know, before all this? College and all that?" She turns back to look at him, shrugs. "Figures it's about time I got back to it."

"And this has nothing to do with Jane Foster."

She fumbles. Hesitates. Saying 'no' would definitely be a lie. Can anyone blame her? Before Thor, with Selvig and Jane, life had been fun. She'd really enjoyed working with them, even if most of it went over her head, and it was all just for a few credit hours. But after Thor? Working with SHIELD, really getting into the thick of it? That had been amazing - but the best part had been Jane. With Selvig and Thor both gone, it had just been the two of them, and they'd been inseparable for months. They'd become so close... but no matter how close they'd become, they were never as close as Darcy would've liked.

"Yeah. Maybe." She stays facing away from Coulson. "She doesn't need me anymore. What else do I have to hang around for?"

"SHIELD could use you." Darcy can't help but snort at that.

"For what? Delivering coffee and making copies?"

"You've proven yourself in very dangerous and delicate situations. You have a level head and a keen mind. I'd hire you."

Darcy does turn, eyeing Coulson up and down. He's serious. "Look - that's great and all, but -" Sighing, she runs a hand through her hair. "I've got to do my own thing. I can't just hang around here, waiting -" Waiting for what's never going to happen. Being in love with someone who doesn't love her. "My life has been on hold for more than a year. It's time I picked it back up again."

After a moment, Coulson nods. He steps down the stairs to her. "Here's my card." He simply says, and hands her a business card. "Call if you change your mind."

Just like that, he's gone, and she's alone with the cab. She looks up at the big mansion, wondering for half a second what it might be like to stay. But she doesn't belong here - she's not an Avenger, and she can't spend her whole life pining for a girl who doesn't love her, and can't continue to torture herself by being around her. So, she's leaving. And that's that. It's the right choice, after all.

So why does it hurt so much?

\---------------------------

"This is ridiculous." Steve says for the seventh time. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"Shut up and deal with it, because you're doing it." Tony retorts, adjusting his tie.

"Rhodey has been kidnapped, and people are trying to kill you, and we're -"

"Doing everything we can about it, Cap." Pleased with the tie, he steps back, brushing Steve's suit jacket off. "Bruce and I are doing research into this shit, trying to piece it together, and Clint, Natasha, and Coulson are all off pulling the secret rescue mission of the century. Until it's time to start smashing heads, you and Thor really aren't needed. So, go have fun. Somebody ought to."

Steve's frowning very deeply, as if he feels he's failed America, and Tony rolls his eyes. "Seriously? What do you want to do, sit at home and worry all night? That helps exactly no one."

The man actually starts biting his lip, and holy shit, it's off the charts on the adorable meter. "We could be helping. I just - I feel so selfish going on a date when there are people who need us."

Tony puts his hands on Steve's shoulders, and tries to catch his gaze. "Steve. Seriously. If I thought you could be of any help right now, I would tell you to stay. I'm saying there's really nothing you can do. Until we know where these guys are or where they're striking next, we can't do anything. And Natasha and Clint have the Division X side covered. For now, we're fine." Then he brushes off Steve's shoulders and steps back. "Besides, you look damn good. Be a sin to waste that look on a night in."

Steve starts blushing at that, glancing in the mirror as if it were a traitor to all that's holy. But it's the truth - Steve looks good. He's wearing an older styled suit in black, with a light blue button up shirt that literally matches his eyes because Tony's that good and he's made of money.

"You sure you -"

"Steve, keep talking and I will hot glue your shield to the helicarrier. See if I don't."

That manages to make the man smile, a little. "I don't think hot glue will stick to vibranium."

"Hey! You know what hot glue is! I am really proud."

They continue to bicker in a light hearted fashion all the way up to the first floor front hall, where Thor already awaits them.

Tony whistles at the sight. "Damn, I didn't know they made suits in 'Asgardian Prince' sizes." He pats the man's arm in a friendly fashion. "Looking good."

Steve is definitely blushing now, but the surprising thing is, so is Thor. Tony was almost positive there was nothing that could turn those princely cheeks pink, but apparently he was wrong. He steps back and watches the two men pretty much gawking over each other and fumbling for words, and they're so wrapped up in one another that they don't notice the third arrival in the room.

"Very nice!" Tony calls out, and that catches their attention. They both turn to see Jane entering in a long red dress, a little flush of her own on her cheeks. Between the three of them, someone is going to burst a blood vessel. "Wonderful. We're all here. Now everyone trade corsages and gather up, Mommy's taking pictures."

"I don't think our very narrow-minded school system would allow three people to all be each other's dates to a prom, Tony." Bruce quips as he walks up - but hey, he has his phone out and is taking a picture, so at least he's listening.

"Lots of things schools don't allow that happen anyway, it's called putting it to the man."

"Tony, I'm pretty sure most people would consider you 'the man'."

They banter, and everyone laughs, and the trio of lovers blush some more, and then they are out the door - but not without Captain America trying to offer to stay home one last time.

"Steve Rogers, if you are back anytime before ten tonight consider yourself grounded!" He calls out in his best mock-parent voice, and then shuts the door behind the three. He fights the urge to simply fall against it and sink to the floor, and turns around.

Bruce is standing there, watching him, arms crossed. Concern is written in every line of his face.

"Are you okay?"

Tony lifts trembling hands to his face, rubs his eyes, and feels the facade of lightheartedness collapsing. He can't lie to Bruce, not now - maybe not ever. "No." He mutters as his hands fall. He's exhausted, frustrated, terrified, and so tired. "No, I'm not."

The words are barely out of his mouth before a strong, gentle hand has grasped his elbow and is leading him from the hall.

"Research can wait," Bruce insists. "You need a break before you collapse."

Tony starts to shake his head. "No, I've got to -"

"You've got to sleep before you die, Tony."

"Can't sleep." He mumbles. "Just - can't."

Bruce hesitates, glances up at his friend. "Do you - would company help?"

\-----------------------

That's how the end up in Tony's bed, together. For the first few hours, Tony sleeps, rather soundly surprisingly enough, and every time he drifts awake Bruce is still there. Around nine he finally wakes up for good, and looks up to see his guardian still sitting watch.

"Y'know," Tony's lying on the right side, barely under the blankets, wearing only sweatpants. "This isn't usually how I get people into my bed."

Bruce's laughter is deep and rumbles, almost like the Hulk's voice. "I'll just bet."

"There's often a lot more sleazy behavior involved."

"Uh huh."

"Probably some money thrown around too."

"Never brought anybody home just because they liked you?"

"Nobody likes me." Tony snorts at that. He can feel the rage in Bruce's eyes directed at him, and he rolls his own. "I mean, besides you."

"And the rest of the Avengers."

"Most people like Tony Stark, the billionaire, the flashy genius, not - not Tony."

"I'm noticing you haven't confirmed 'the rest of the Avengers'."

"People don't like me."

"Except people do, because hey! The rest of the Avengers."

Bruce swats his arm, and Tony snorts and swats him back. "Stop it. You don't - I mean, they tolerate me. Which is more than most people do. But they don't actually like me. And Rhodey and Pepper like me sometimes, but most days I'm pushing all the wrong buttons and pissing them off, too."

"So," He hears movement, and turns to see Bruce rolling onto his side. He's on top of the blankets, still in his clothes. The sight is disheartening, but then, he knew he never actually had a chance to get Bruce Banner in his bed. "What you're saying is, you think I'm the only one who likes you?"

"Yeah," Suddenly Tony feels fear tighten around his heart. "I mean, you do, ... right?"

A sigh. "I don't know what to do with you." That sends a spike of pain right through him, until Bruce keeps speaking and he realizes the humorous intent for what it is. "Half the time you're full of yourself and the other half you're so self-flagellating -"

"Self-flagellating? Is that like self pleasuring? Flagellating sounds like a naughty word."

"Only if you're into being verbally abused while you get off."

"Dunno," Tony shrugs. "Never tried it." They fall silent, eyes glued on each other, completely frozen. Tony realizes he's never been this close to Bruce before, never this relaxed and at peace.

"Whole house is empty, you know." Tony mutters. He's not sure why he says it. His eyes are half closed, and he thinks that maybe he's doing his seductive voice without meaning to. He really, really doesn't mean to - because yeah, he really cares about Bruce maybe more than he should, but he knows he can't have this. He isn't meant to have this.

"Yeah," Bruce replies. He snuggles down into the bed, his glasses going slightly askew, and before Tony knows what he's doing, he reaches out and adjusts them. Halfway through the motion he seems to realize what he's done and he stops, but that's worse because suddenly his hand is just floating there, right next to Bruce's cheek, and they're in his bed, and they have the house to themselves, and this probably looks really bad -

"This probably looks really bad," Tony starts and he knows he's speaking too fast, too hyper. "I mean, talking about the house being empty, and getting into your space, and getting you into my bed, but I promise I'm not - I mean - I'm not trying to fuck you, I wouldn't - I'm not that selfish."

Bruce's eyes have grown twice their usual size, and he's blushing pretty strongly. Another time, and Tony might've enjoyed that. "I didn't follow that train of thought. At all."

Sighing, Tony retracts his hand (very reluctantly). He doesn't want to explain this. He hates thinking about it. But he dug his grave and he's gotta lie in it, right? "I'm not trying to seduce you, I didn't mean - I wouldn't do that to you. Or the Avengers. This - it's important."

Yeah, he's stupid and he's fucked all sorts of people he shouldn't for all kinds of reasons that he shouldn't, but that was the old him. He actually hasn't fucked anybody beside his hand since Pepper, but there's no way anyone would believe that, and this really does look like one of his old set ups. One of his easy, fuck-em-and-leave-em things. But this is Bruce, a teammate and his closest friend and he wouldn't do that to him, and he needs Bruce to believe him, that he wouldn't use him like that, would never use him like that, ever.

"I didn't think you were trying to seduce me, Tony." Bruce chuckles a little, mouth slightly upturned. His hand reaches out and takes hold of the hand Tony pulled back. "You're hurting, and you're afraid, and you're looking for comfort. That's fine."

No - No! He doesn't want it, not like this, not Bruce giving him a pity fuck because he's the weak Avenger who can't stop getting hurt. He snatches his hand back. "No, thanks."

"That's not what I -" Another sigh, and Bruce drops his own hand. "I meant that you're looking for comfort, like - like with a friend. Just like how we're lying here now and just talking. I wasn't implying anything... sexual." He says 'sexual' like it's a disgusting word and yeah, right now that's the last thing Tony wants, but the fact that Bruce associates 'sexual' with 'disgusting' when it comes to Tony still fucking hurts.

They fall quiet again, and this time it's nowhere near relaxed or peaceful, like before. Tony lets his gaze drop. Of course he fucked this up. He fucks everything up, in the end.

"I need a drink," He starts to stand, and a hand reaches out and takes hold of his elbow.

"Tony," Bruce starts, his eyes so bright and pleading they're like stars pulling him in. "Don't. Just... lie with me. I won't try anything, I promise.

He won't...? "I'm the one who's supposed to say that."

Bruce cocks an eyebrow. "Who says?"

"Uh, everyone?" Tony laughs but it's not good laughter. "I'm the sex-obsessed lecher remember?"

"No, I definitely do not remember that." Bruce insists firmly. "Now, can we please go back to the bantering and resting?"

Yeah, he wants to go back to that. He wants to not ruin this, to not constantly make things harder between them. He wants a lot of things he can't have.

He's been thinking a lot, since this all started. The Avengers, they - being one has been really good for him. He doesn't know what he'd do without it. More than that, he can't imagine his life without one particular Avenger anymore, without Bruce Banner, and that's dangerous, because Tony Stark is very good at ruining things. He's certain he's going to ruin this, and it will destroy him in ways he'll never recover from.

Swallowing, Tony puts his head back down on the pillow, tries to ignore his skyrocketing heartbeat.

"Tony? Tony, really, what's up?"

When he lifts his gaze, he knows he's got tears in his eyes. "Bruce, um - god I can't do this."

"What is it?" Bruce starts sitting up. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

Tony, following suit, pulls himself up against the headboard. "No, um - yeah? I don't -" Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. God, what is he doing? This is nuts! "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what, Tony?"

Bruce is sitting up, glasses slightly tilted, hair flat on one side from laying down, his clothes rumpled and his cheeks flushed, and he's the most beautiful thing Tony's ever seen. He's perfect, and divine, and Tony would like nothing better than to tear off all his clothes and devour him, or just wrap him up in his arms and tug him in tight and never let go. He wants to love him slowly, to hear him laugh every day, to give him everything he's every wanted, hand him happiness on a platter - it's such a strong, passionate, overwhelming feeling that it bursts the dams in his eyes and he cries.

"Tony?" Bruce's voice is low, trembling, and he moves right into Tony's space, one hand clutching his wrist and the other rising to his cheek. "Tony, you -" He's staring at the tears like they're tragedies themselves, and then his eyes met Tony's and Tony wonders how he manage to avoid this for so long, how in the world he controlled himself all this time, because he can't, not anymore, not now.

"Ton -" Bruce doesn't finish - Tony swallows the word, presses his lips against Bruce's gently and softly for a moment, then pulls away. He's shaking head to foot, feels like throwing up, he's burning up and he's lightheaded, and everything is perfect and terrible and he is such an idiot -

"God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I -"

Hands cup his face and lips seize his, pull him in tight and they're not kissing, this is making out, this is eating each other's faces. Tony can do that, he can stop thinking and just go for it, tongues and teeth clashing. Bruce tastes like salt - or maybe that's the tears - and something sharp and bitter, maybe like coffee or chemicals, and it's wonderful because it's Bruce, and Tony never imagined he'd have this, not even for a moment.

The break apart but they're right in each other's spaces, mouth to mouth, and Tony starts gabbering. "I'm not trying to use you, I promise, this isn't about sex -"

"Tony -"

"You mean so much to me, this is more than just sex or fucking I promise, I promise -"

"Tony -"

"Please." Tony lifts his hands, frames Bruce's face in his own. "Please believe me, this is - you have to believe me."

A hand covers his. "You don't have to convince me of anything, Tony." He wants to believe Bruce, wants to, but he's currently on the verge of having a panic attack and he's pretty sure he just made a terrible mistake because he ruins everything - even if Bruce did kiss him back which what the hell someone explain that -

"Tony, calm down. It's okay." Another hand covers his, and presses hard, reassuringly. "It's okay." Bruce falls quiet, then smiles. "I have to go get something." Panic strikes again, but those hands squeeze his. "I'm coming back! I promise. I just need to show you this." Bruce pulls away, slowly, and Tony lets him go because he needs a minute to process all this, to return to himself and find his voice again. What the hell just happened?

The room falls quiet after Bruce leaves. Tony takes a minute to breath, feeling somewhat hysterical. A choked laugh escapes him. This - what does this mean? God, his life is so confusing.

"What a tender moment."

Tony leaps to his feet, spinning around and on alert in an instant. "JARVIS -"

"Is not currently operational, I'm afraid." A figure steps into the room from the balcony, through the doors which are supposed to be locked and protected with a state of the art security system. "One of my many talents." The figure is tall, wearing a long cloak and a helmet of some sort. He turns towards Tony and the inventor sees a wizened face with serious eyes, and he is sure he knows who this is.

"Erik Lensherr." He narrows his eyes at the man's deep chuckle.

"Very good." He turns, paces towards Tony. Tony holds his ground. "I am impressed by you, you know. I had not imagined you would come so close to the truth. But it seems you, - what's the saying? - can't see the forest for the trees?"

Tony is really lost, and confused, and he's a little shaky because this has been a weird day and he can't reach Bruce or JARVIS and the armors are downstairs -

"What do you want?" Tony spits out. "To kill me?"

"Kill you?" Lensherr chuckles, coming to a stop about five feet from Tony. The man tries his best not to quake. Lensherr has an aura that is almost deadly, an air about him that screams 'danger, run away screaming'. He's fighting that feeling tooth and nail. "Killing you means nothing to me."

"Then why?" Anger gets the best of him, as it usually does. "What the hell is all this for? Destroying my house, hacking my suit, breaking my reactor? What was it for?"

"All part of the plan, Mr. Stark." Lensherr crosses his arms, staring at him from under that ungodly helmet, eyes narrowed. "You are part of a much bigger picture. Taking you down is simply... a means to an end."

"What end?" Tony clenches his fists. "What the hell do I or any of the Avengers have to do with your little war against Division X?"

The man shrugs almost lackadaisically. "Absolutely nothing." He admits. "But my war on mankind? Quite a great deal." Tony says nothing. For once, he's honestly not sure what to say. He'd been looking at this as a grudge match, a feud between factions, but he was missing some variables, it seems. Lensherr seems willing enough to fill in the gaps, he's got a dramatic flare if the helmet and cape are anything to go by, so Tony shuts his trap and lets him talk.

"It is the darker nature of living things to fear what they cannot control. Division X fights us now, but soon the world will follow after. I am simply making a preemptive strike."

"You're starting a war no one wants." Tony insists. "Division X might be full of nutjobs, but you want to fight the whole damn planet?"

"Do you really think I want to?" Lensherr snaps back. "I have no choice. Humanity has given us no choice. Mutants will have no peace until they take it, by force, from the humans who would hold them down. That is what I am doing."

Snorting, Tony crosses his arms. The more the man talks, the more convinced Tony is that he's missing some marbles. "By killing me?"

"By killing hope." Lensherr smirks again, his earlier agitation fading. "By destroying their hopes. The Avengers mean quite a great deal to humanity now, you know. When I realized this, I knew that humanity's first line of defense against us - against mutants - would be you."

"And what makes you think we'd fight you?" Tony smirks back, trying not to be intimidated. This is his house, damn it. He's got the home team advantage. And Bruce will be back any minute. If he can keep this wacko talking long enough. "I'm not into attacking people for who they are. When they attack me, though, that's a whole other ball game."

"Don't play with me, boy." Lensherr begins to walk again, pacing in a circle around Tony. Tony holds his ground, turns his head. "If humanity calls, the Avengers will follow. So long as your team thrives, the humans have a very power ally in their corner. Your destruction benefits a greater purpose."

"Okay, fine, kill me for a better future, whatever, this is getting boring." Tony frowns deeply, bothered more than he'll admit that this man immediately assumed they'd just attack whoever cause the government or somebody said so. They aren't attack dogs. They have morals, for god's sakes!

Dark laughter interrupts his train of thought. "I've told you, Mr. Stark. I'm not here to kill you." It's only then that he notices the other person on the balcony. She steps into the room, stark red hair and blue skin, wearing nothing but her birthday suit.

"I'm guessing your mutant power is the ability to consume endless amounts of hair gel?" Because her hair is so slicked back there's no way that's natural... probably.

The mutant frowns, but it quickly becomes a smirk and before his eyes she transforms - into him, reactor and all.

"Ooookay." For the first time, he is really, truly terrified - scared for his team, for his people. "You're not killing me, you're - replacing me." Now is maybe the time to start thinking of an ingenious plan of escape. Bruce, where are you?

"Warmer." Lensherr stops nexts to the fake-Stark, looking the double over admiringly. "Amazing, isn't she? This gift she's been given, what she's been forced to hide for humanity's scruples. Humans would have her chained in a lab given half a chance."

He can't deny that - Division X is proof of that. "I can help you," He says, and he means it. "I've got the resources and the power, we can fight this."

Lensherr looks up, meets his eyes with a deadened stare that chills him to the bone. "Even if I did believe you, Mr. Stark, it is much to late for that." Then, he lifts his hand, and waves it through the air. Tony stares for a moment, unsure of what's happening, and then suddenly something's flying in through the open balcony and -

"What the hell are you doing with my suit?" Tony asks breathlessly. He's more and more confused by the second, and he's really not sure he likes where this is going, and he's actually a little afraid he's not going to be able to stop this, and where the hell is Bruce -? With no other options, he leaps over the bed and tries hoofing it to the door -

"GOD DAMMIT!"

Sudden, blazing pain erupts in his heart, right beneath the arc reactor, and he looks down and sees the light still shining, but - but it's being pulled out of his damn chest, it's being removed, and he can't push it back in - he strains with all his might but he can't do it, it moves further and further until it's almost out - it starts to move, and he's forced to follow along, straining as he does, pain flickering through his chest -

"Do settle down, Mr. Stark." Lensherr quips, his hand drifting through the air, making the suit dance, as his other hand gestures him forward. "There's really nothing you can do now."

Tony watches, eyes drifting from the man's hand, to the suit, trying to think through the pain, gathering data, remembering months of work, past incidences. "The forest for the trees," He whispers. He couldn't see the forest for the trees. He was focusing on trying to discover a power, mental or physical, that could bend matter and hack computers and control things across distance when in reality, he was focused too closely, when all those things could be done with a simple trick of - "Magnetism." Horror pervades him, true terror, and he feels the reactor quake in his chest.

"About time." Fake Tony laughs. She's putting an earpiece in her ear, and then she attaches a receiver inside the helmet of the suit.

"Really, Mr. Stark." His enemy says almost placating. "Do you see now? It was always hopeless. All your efforts in vain." Tony's being pulled closer and closer, until the man reaches out and touches his reactor and Tony visibly recoils but it hurts so much. "Given who I am, and who you are... you and your metal heart... were never a match for me."

"BRU -" A piece of metal slaps over his lips. The reactor returns to his chest, and suddenly the armor's flying over him, onto him.

"You see," Lensherr watches intently as the process continues. "I research my opponents well. The Avengers are a solid team but everything has their weak spots. Captain America, the SHIELD Agents, the Asgardian prince - they are pristine images, heroic, well meaning. But you and Dr. Banner? The public has a much different view of you, given your... histories."

"The tarnish of your past, and his, is what will be the Avengers downfall. To put it quite simply..." Lensherr stands right in front of him, and Tony can't move anymore, the armor is out of his control, JARVIS is gone, god dammit what's happening!? "You're both monsters. The world already believes it of you. I'm simply going to prove them right." Tony's trembling, and Lensherr chuckles. "I can see you don't understand. It's truly simple."

"I will destroy the Avengers on the inside, by having them tear each other apart - starting with the two most unreliable members. Really, Mr. Stark?" Lensherr touches his neck with some kind of needle, injects him, then begins to back up. "Why did you have to be so irresponsible? Everyone knows you drink too much. But drinking in the suit?" He clicks his tongue. "The truly tragic part was leaving you home alone with the Hulk, with no one to protect you. And really, who can blame him for fighting back when the Iron Man started firing upon him?"

No no no no no please no

Lensherr smirks when he sees the realization, the fear, the helplessness flood Tony's eyes. Then the helmet goes on his head.

"I will say, the irony is quite tragic." Lensherr begins again. "You fell in love with the monster, and now he's going to kill you, and then the rest of your team shall chase him to the ends of the earth for revenge. How terrible. I almost feel bad." The man smirks again, lifting his hand, and the suit moves as he wills it.

No anything but this please god no

"Your lover needs you, Mr. Stark." Lensherr says. "Let's not keep him waiting."


	22. The Very Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse.

They take a plane to the base in question, the location of their next op. Clint is usually jittery, excited before a mission, practically bouncing off the walls and shooting off at the mouth almost nonstop. Today, he's pensive, head lowered, and every so often he glances at Natasha.

His partner surprised him today, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

It's not that he doesn't agree with what she did. The Avengers - Tony - deserved to know about Rhodey, and Fury trying to keep it from them (hint: from Tony) was just not cool. But the fact is, Natasha is a slippery ninja spy and Clint's always been the only one who really understood and could predict her, and in some ways he'd prided himself on being so close to his fellow agent.

Then she goes and does this, and everything he thought he knew about her was challenged, just like that.

The Natasha he knew a year ago would never have disobeyed Fury; being in SHIELD was too important to her, and no one else mattered as much. For Clint, maybe she would've disobeyed an order, because they were loyal to each other in a way they weren't for most other SHIELD agents. But this is different - this is Natasha throwing herself in with the Avengers, not SHIELD. She's changed.

Clint, he knows where he stands. He betrayed SHIELD, even if he didn't mean to, and a lot of good agents are dead because of him. How could he ever work with those people again, knowing what he'd done to them? What he cost them? Since that mission with Loki, Fury has never assigned Clint on any missions with anyone but Natasha, and Clint's grateful. He doesn't really consider himself an agent in anything but name, anymore.

The Avengers, on the other hand, are like his weird dorm mates, people with slovenly habits who keep terrible hours and sometimes seem to forget what a 'shower' is. (Thor is constantly guilty of that.) He'll admit, under duress, that he likes them. They're all right, he supposes.

Thor's fun and he's great to have in a fight, while Steve has this aura to him that's impossible to resist in its inherent goodness. Bruce is always so calm and reserved, he makes a pretty decent listener and Clint can't help but tell stories. Tony is fucking nuts and things always explode around him, and Clint likes explosions, plus he's set them up with all this shit and built Clint special arrows like his very own Q. Snorting, Clint thinks he needs to remember to call Tony 'Q' to his face sometime.

The problem is, - well... the problem is Clint.

Clint had a good thing with SHIELD. People who kinda cared, a job he was good at, and hey, he even managed to do some good from time to time. Then, a wacko in horns shows up, pokes him with a stick, and all that changes. Poof goes his life.

It's a miracle Coulson is alive, and that Clint didn't completely screw everything up and keep the Avengers from saving the world. He got lucky. Next time, he might not get lucky.

It's hard to forget that Clint is one of the only humans on this team of very, very special humans and demi-gods, and even Natasha has a bunch of mental and emotional skills in her repertoire that Clint never really got a handle on. He can't lie, cheat, and manipulate the way she can. He's pretty much the glorified muscle man on a team with the likes of the Hulk and Thor. They don't need another muscle man.

He's got his eye, his marksmanship, and that's it. It wouldn't be that hard to replace him. And after that first colossal failure? Where the world was almost destroyed and he was batting for the wrong team for half the time? Yeah. Clint's treading thin ice. He doubts they'll keep him around for long.

So, yeah, he thinks what Natasha did is cool. He gets that her loyalty is with the Avengers now. Clint wants to say the same, but it's hard to feel loyal, to become attached to something he is positive he is going to lose any minute.

"Where are you, Barton?"

The voice comes from right beside him, and Clint smirks. "Nowhere, sir." He jokes, speaking with a military tone. "My brain is an empty vacuum, sir."

Coulson lifts an eyebrow, and Clint can't help but laugh. At least he has this. Despite everything, somehow, he still has Coulson, and he's made it quite clear that he's not going anywhere. Smiling, Clint shoves the man with his elbow playfully, but very gently. He's very aware of just how weak his friend still is.

"ETA three minutes." The man says, and Clint nods, moving to stand. "We all know our jobs?"

"Course, boss man." Clint salutes him with a wink as Natasha stands beside him.

"It's good to have you back where you belong." Natasha says, gesturing to the ear piece she's wearing, through which their unofficial handler will be guiding her. Clint's got one, too.

Coulson allows for a small smile. "Good to be back." His voice is thready and sincere and creates a lump in Clint's throat that makes it hard to joke around. He manages it.

"Try not to collect any more scars, huh?" He starts, trying his best to be funny and light hearted despite how breathy his voice is. "You get any more and you'll look more hardcore and badass than me." He's backing up to the opening in the plane, swinging his parachute on, as Natasha rolls her eyes and follows suit.

"What he's trying to say but failing because he is emotionally incompetent," His partner starts, shoving him to the side. "Is 'take care, Coulson'."

The ex-agent is beaming. "The same to both of you."

\----------------------

Moira McTaggert opens her eyes and sees an empty hallway.

Her mind thrums, thoughts clouded and obscured, and pain resonates down her spine. Trembling hands reach out and push against the walls, trying to help her stand. Her brain buzzes, her vision fades in and out, and breathing is a struggle. But she manages it.

"Hopkins," She calls. "Tomlinson!" Her guard aren't there. What was she doing? Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her phone, and boots up a program. There, hundreds of notes are gathered, and she hits the one with the closest date and time stamp. She only remembers the date and time because of her phone.

The note reads: going to interrogate Xavier, begin phase 3 of Trojan Horse.

Ah. She... vaguely remembers. It's not clear. Sighing, she stuffs her phone back, and heads to the elevator. Even after years of dealing with this... issue... it never becomes less frustrating. At least she still remembers the way to the cells.

\---------------------

Rhodey perks up at the sound of metal scraping against metal. He stands, runs to the door. He can't see much through it, but it's enough to tell the guards are bringing more people down.

"Summers?" He calls out. "These're your people, right?"

"Yeah," His voice is rough, angry. The guards are carrying Hank McCoy and Sean Cassidy, but both are unconscious. Rhodey watches them go with growing anxiety.

"Then where's the professor?"

"Shut up!" The guard bangs against Rhodey's door, snarling in the opening. "Keep quiet!"

Frowning, Rhodey decides to placate him for as long as he's there, and slumps back onto his cot. He doesn't want to piss off his guards and draw any fire right now. If they're going to escape somehow, he'll need all his strength.

He listens as they put McCoy and Cassidy in their own cells and lock the doors, then walk away with the heavy stamp of booted feet. Once he thinks they're far enough away, he moves towards the wall that's against Alex's room.

"Have you seen the professor?"

"Not since before we were brought here." Alex spat out. "You mean he was taken with us?"

Frowning, Rhodey nodded. "Yeah." He heard the man curse and felt the urge to do the same. "So they aren't keeping him down here. Have they taken you anywhere?"

"Couple of times. But I didn't see him there."

"Where do they take you?"

"Interrogation room. Table, chairs, wall of glass."

Snorting, Rhodey turns and puts his back to the wall. "How much you want to bet they've got Xavier behind that glass wall?"

Another round of curses. "Of course. Put us in a cage and rattle the bars, and hold that over Xavier's head. He'd fall for that."

"If he has, why're they still taking you up there?"

"Huh. Maybe not. But what the hell are they trying to get out of him?"

"You tell me." Rhodey retorts. "What's the professor know that's so important?"

"They could be trying to blackmail him about Cerebro, but even if they knew about how to use it, they can't without him. Since they didn't take the whole mansion over when they took us, I doubt that's their end game."

Rhodey has no idea what a 'cerebro' is, but he'll take Alex's word on it.

"Magneto." A new voice enters the conversation - rough and raspy, torn by pain. Rhodey hears Summers moving around, probably trying to get closer to his injured friend.

"Beast? You okay?"

"I'll be fine." The doctor insists, grunting. "The information they want - this is clearly about Magneto. Must be."

"Who's Magneto?" Rhodey interjects.

"A mutant, a very powerful and somewhat unhinged man. His birth name is Erik Lensherr."

The name shoots through Rhodey's brain like lightning. "Yeah, he'd be the one."

\-------------------

In a hall in the same building, 'Hopkins' and 'Tomlinson' walk swiftly to their destination.

"I still say we should've taken the time to grab her." 'Tomlinson' says.

"This is a rescue mission." His shorter partner retorts. "Taking her is not a priority and we don't have the time."

"She's the mastermind behind this whole thing! Come on!"

'Hopkins' just glares at 'Tomlinson', an eyebrow quirked, and her partner huffs. "All right, all right. So, where to?"

'Hopkins' - aka, Natasha Romanov - removes a device from her pocket and takes a moment to look over it. "Three of the mutant life signs are below us, basement level 2 - the last is in the fifth floor laboratory."

"Ooh boy." Wincing, 'Tomlinson' - aka Clint Barton - steps forward to glance at the device. "That can't be good. I'll take top, you take bottom?"

She shakes her head. "I'll take top. You head for the basement."

"Roger, roger."

He's gone by the time he's done speaking, and Natasha stuffs the device back into her pocket, and vanishes just as quickly.

\----------------------

Rhodes gives a heavy sigh, lets his head smack against the wall. "How're we getting out of here?"

"We're not." Hank huffs back. "This place is armed to the teeth, and the drugs they've been pumping us with not only subdue our powers, they make us groggy and weak. I can't imagine one soldier can carry the three of us out of here, find Xavier, and then escape!"

"How about one soldier and two Avengers?"

Rhodey recognizes the voice, and he sits up, relief flooding him. "Barton, is that you?"

"You know anyone else with a voice this husky and robust?" Clint's face appears in the window in his door, and he waves. "Or a face this handsome? Come on, up and at 'em soldier, we're here to rescue you."

"Is this idiot on our side?" Summers mutters, and Rhodey can hear him approaching his door.

"'This idiot' is your guardian angel, now back up, I have explosions to create." There's a bit of fidgeting and muttering after that, and Rhodey takes the advice to heart. A few seconds later, there's a small controlled explosion, and his door swings open.

"Man, I am glad to see you." Rhodes laughs as Barton steps into view. "Never thought I'd say that."

Barton's already moving on, to Summer's door, but Rhodey hears him laugh.

"The Avengers are here?"

"Two of them," Barton answers beast. "My partner's on her way to Xavier. We'll get you all out of here safe and sound, so don't worry your fluffy blue head." Rhodes doesn't get to hear Beast's response, because the door to Summers' cell blows open.

"There's no way people didn't hear that, right?" He asks as he steps out.

"You're absolutely right, but thanks to my buddy here," Clint taps the earpiece he's wearing, "They aren't going to be able to unlock the door to this level for a while."

"Who's on the line?" Rhodey asks.

"It's Coulson."

"Well, tell him I think they took the War Machine armor when they took me, and we can't leave that here." Clint curses as he starts on Banshee's door, then nods and passes the message along. They blow Sean's door open, but the guy is still unconscious, appearing haggard and bone-tired. Alex throws him over his shoulder, and they move on to Beast's door.

"Okay, Coulson says it's in one of the upper level labs, close to Xavier." Clint finally says as he puts the charge on the door, and everyone backs up. "I can bag it on the way to meet with Natasha, you get these guys out of here." Beast's door explodes, and then everyone's free, and all at once the protesting starts.

"We are not leaving without the professor!" Beast insists with a slight growl, just as Rhodey says, "The hell I am!"

"Look," Clint holds up his hands. "Right now you guys," He points at the mutants, "are as powerful as newborn kittens, and you don't have a suit. I can't protect all of you."

Summers takes that moment to get right into Clint's face, scowling. "You won't have to." Then he shoves past him, approaching the door at the end of the hall, and begins to lift his hands. There's a glow forming around him, a light red, and he starts moving his whole body in jerking motions, but for a minute nothing happens. Then - BOOM. Rings of light tear through the metal door like paper and the explosion shakes the building.

"Damn!" Rhodes starts in awe, half laughing.

"Okay, I take it back." Clint's laughing, too. "I thought you guys were drugged?"

"Adrenaline and anger can do a great deal for motivation." Hank shrugs, and the group begins chasing after Summers.

\-----------------------

There are many things in his life that Charles Xavier regrets. Almost all of them happened in the same year, with the same group of people. One of the greatest, most tragic of his mistakes has everything to do with Moira McTaggert.

At the time, the world had been falling around him and his closest friends had betrayed him, and Moira had seemed to be a huge liability, able to reveal the locations of himself and his students to her superiors at the drop of a hat. If he couldn't trust Erik, or Raven, whom he had been so close to, then how could he trust Moira? So, in a moment of crippling fear and emotional insecurity, he had made a choice.

Choices, Xavier finds, are like rocks in a pond. They make ripples that roll outward and keep coming, long after the stone has sunk. This choice, the decision to alter McTaggert's memories without her knowledge or consent, is what has led to this moment.

He's not quite sure how it happened, how she managed to work through what he had done to her mind, but now she stands before him. Though, like him, age has taken its toll there is still so much that is familiar in her face, her body, her eyes. They blaze with restrained, calculated fury.

In the time he's been her captive, they have not spoken, not seen one another. Her flunkies had been his constant companions, following her orders, keeping a constant eye on him and forcing him to watch as they tormented his friends. Daily, they subjected Hank or Alex or Sean to pain and made him observe it, telling him it would end if he would only talk. It was just too bad he had nothing to say - Xavier had not spoken to Erik Lensherr since that day on the beach, had not seen him in decades, and knew nothing of his location or his plans.

Now, seeing her again after all this time, he feels the bitter pain of his regret very sharply. He knows what he did then was not right - but whether, in the circumstance, it was the right choice, given his options, he can't know. There is no way to tell if Moira would have told, or been forced to tell. But the fact that he took that choice from her, that he betrayed her first, is his sin.

"Mr. Xavier." She starts, and her lips quirk upward slightly. "Charles."

He looks up, tries to speak. "Moira." His voice catches on her name.

"I see you remember me." She says the words haughtily, with a light chuckle. "I'm lucky to remember you - or anything at all, really."

That takes him by surprise; his eyes widen. She can't mean...? But she's moved on, sauntering across the room in front of him towards the window.

"Have you thought much of me, all these years?" Moira doesn't allow him the time to reply. He sees her back, her silhouette in the fading sunlight, facing away from him. "I've often thought of you, and your fellow mutants. In fact, I'd say I've spent most of the last forty years thinking of you: of what you can do, what you are willing to do." She turns, slightly, but the light obscures her face. "When I first began helping you, I believed that all people, mutant or human or whatever else might be, deserved the chance to be free. To not be judged by circumstances out of their control, for who they are."

He rolls closer to her, his hands trembling slightly. Xavier feels sick, and he's starting to realize that perhaps he'd underestimated the extent of the damage his choice created. If not for the device attached to his head and the drug in his veins, maybe he would be able to tell with his own mind just how much injury he had inflicted upon hers. But perhaps, given their history, that he could not was for the best.

"And now?" He manages to ask. "What do you think?"

"I think some people are too dangerous, too powerful to simply give the benefit of the doubt." Moira insists, voice low and tremulous. "I think human nature is too selfish and capricious to do anything else."

"Moira..."

"Don't speak." The woman cuts him off sharply, turning back to the window. "I don't want your apologies, sincere or otherwise, and I have no interest in explanations. What's done is done. I did not bring you here out of some dramatic need for revenge or justice. I have a job, and I intend to do it."

Then, she turns, striding towards him. "What I need from you everything you know about Erik Le - Erik..." She stalls, blinking, and for a moment her face goes blank. Then frustration narrows her eyes. "Erik. You know who I mean."

Slowly, he nods. "I... I do. And I can't help you."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't." Sighing, Xavier rests his elbows on the chair's arm rests, and interlinks his fingers. "I don't know whether you remember what happened on that beach or not, but Erik and I did not part on the best of terms."

"You were close - very close. I can't imagine you haven't been in contact with him, if not for him, than at least for your sister."

Yes. With a great amount of inner turmoil and anguish, Charles thinks, oh yes. They had been very close. 'Had been' being the operative words.

"I know that Erik is planning something and I doubt the outcome will be pleasant. I would not like anything more than to stop him before people get hurt. But I know absolutely nothing, Moira. I can be of no help to you."

"Hmm." She moves closer, arms crossed. "Pity." In a flash, her hands are at her belt, and she's removing a gun. It takes her less than a few seconds to aim it at his face and release the safety. "Then I suppose this is goodbye."

"Drop the gun."

Charles turns his head, shock running through him. He's not used to being surprised - it's hard to sneak up on a psychic. But there, standing suddenly in the corner of the room, is Natasha Romanov.

"Avengers." Scoffing, Moira relaxes her arms, keeping the gun trained on Charles but not aiming directly at his head any longer. He won't lie; the change is comforting. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"We didn't start this feud," Natasha replies evenly, moving along the room. "But we'll happily end it." Charles has no doubt of that.

Moira lowers the gun further, which Charles finds as very strange. She had the upper hand, a hostage. Why would she stand down? He glances over to Natasha and sees the confused, pensive look on her face, and realizes that she noticed it, too.

"This is hardly a feud, Ms. Romanov," Stowing her gun away, Moira lifts her gaze. "And it will never be over." Dodging left as Natasha breaks into a sprint towards her, Moira dives for a laboratory table which holds a long, black case. She snaps it open, quickly, and when she spins around, she holds its contents in her hands: a long, golden spear with a blue gem in its end. Charles has no idea what it is, but Natasha's quiet intake of breath says that she certainly does.

A vicious grin comes over Moira's face, and she lifts the spear towards the sky. As the gem starts to glow, she speaks. "Thank you, by the way, for bringing my weapon back to me."

The ceiling explodes; Charles' chair rolls across the room with the recoil, but he manages to stay upright. Natasha is not so lucky; she was closer, and is thrown farther by the blast. When the smoke and dust clear, Xaver manages to see a figure standing in a crater where part of the lab used to be. He's standing between Moira and Natasha, protectively, and his eyes are glowing an inhumane blue, like the staff's gem.

It's Coulson - Agent Phil Coulson.

\--------------------

Bruce Banner is halfway to his room when he feels something strange inside his head.

It's like somebody just poked him with a finger, trying to get his attention. It's more than unsettling, it's just plain weird. Knowing that he shares his brain with the Hulk is strange enough - more recently, actively communicating with him while conscious has been beyond strange. But it's a good strange. He finds its not as hard as he thought it would be, getting used to the Hulk in this new way. The problem is, they don't seem to be very good at talking just yet.

The Hulk doesn't like using words, or can't. Half the time, he fails to communicate verbally and grows frustrated and throws a fit in Bruce's head, which is something like having a massive Hulk sized headache. But he hasn't come out against Bruce's will since they started talking, in fact, since before that. Things look... good.

But now, there's this poke, this strange prodding. He reaches in and does a little poking around himself, but he doesn't think the Hulk is the one bothering him. The big guy is sedate, almost unconscious. But when Bruce starts investigate, the big guy comes to life, and the combined awareness of the two of them makes it easier for Bruce to realize there is an intruder in his mind.

He recoils, physically and mentally, completely unprepared to face a stranger roaming around in his head. Suddenly, all thoughts of what he wanted to show Tony are gone, and he stops in the middle of the hall, lifting his hands.

"Get out of my head!" He shouts, and he hears the Hulk shout in his mind, feeling his anger. They're united, pushing the invader out as one, and it's a strange feeling, to be working with the Hulk. So often, he's fighting against him, trying to subdue him. It's - elating, to be working side by side.

They force the invader out quickly, and the first thing Bruce thinks is, Tony, and he spins round to return to the man. But out of the shadows steps Emma Frost, coming to stand in his way. In an instant, her skin is diamond, and she's in a battle pose, and almost before he realizes it, Bruce is transforming into the Hulk. It's just... natural. They both know what to do.

Tony in trouble, Hulk thinks, and Bruce thinks something similar. Tony needs them. Nothing, and no one, is going to keep them from him.

\--------------------------

When Tony was a child, he learned a most valuable lesson.

He'd been a teenager, almost a young man, when an event at school had brought him to the attention of his parents. They didn't give him attention often, but this had been enough to earn a few minutes of his father's time. It had been... strange. Strangely comforting, and strangely open. But it had honestly meant the world to Tony, and had done wonders for his relationship with his dad.

Not two months later, both his parents died.

This event in his life, in which for just a moment he'd been allowed to believe things were getting better right when they turned around and got a hell of a lot worse, taught him something.

Life is always shit.

It's like chaos theory. Things are always going to get tangled up and messed up given the chance, it's just natural. Leave things along for just a minute, for the blink of an eye, and they'll be fucked to hell by the time you return.

His parents, Stark Industries, Pepper, Rhodey, Obadiah, Afghanistan, SHIELD, the Avengers, all of it - it's all just reinforced that belief. No matter how good things seem to be, no matter what little improvements appear on the surface, that pristine outer layer will crack and trouble will bubble up from underneath. It always goes to shit.

And here, right now, here is the moment when everything, this new life he's built, the friend's he's made, the man he's fallen in love with - this is when he loses it all. This is the hiccup. One hiccup and I'm gone. Standing in that graveyard with Bruce, feeling his heart pound, unable to believe his luck, awe-struck, realizing that it had to be too good to last. It is.

Tony doesn't usually think of the suit as stifling or suffocating, but now? Unable to move, stuck inside with barely enough room to turn his head, without JARVIS's comforting voice or any freedom at all? It's excruciating He can see what's happening, can feel himself flying through the mansion, but he can't do a damn thing about it. Sure, he can control his body, but no matter how hard he flexes his limbs they won't move the metal: Lensherr is too strong.

The suit keeps moving without his consent, and he's breathing hard, failing to fight back tears, the gag still over his mouth. He can't so much as twitch his fingers, he can't do a damn thing, and the suit is flying right at Bruce, fuck -

\-----------------------

The fight goes on longer than Hulk wants, but Diamond Lady refuse to move.

No matter how Hulk smash, Diamond Lady get back up. Hulk knows reason is because of science, something Banner knows, but Hulk can't reach it. Doesn't matter - getting to Tony matters. Making Diamond Lady stay down so Hulk can protect Tony matters.

Then, he hears the noise - WHOOSH. It's Tony's flying nose, so that means Tony on his way. Good. Hulk can keep eye on him, keep him safe, and smash Diamond Lady.

But when WHOOSH happens, Diamond Lady's mouth moves upwards and she turns and runs away, jumps out window. Hulk grunts. "Puny Diamond Lady!" Lets her go. Tony more important. Must make sure Tony safe.

Hulk turns, watches Tony fly down hall to Hulk. Tony stop in air, and then lift arms to aim. Hulk turn round; is something behind Hulk? No. Is Tony aiming at - Hulk?

Laugh comes from Tony. Hulk doesn't like. It not nice, not big and full like Tony laugh's. It... low. Dark.

"What Tony doing?"

"What's it look like Tony's doing, you moron?" Tony stay in air, arms aimed at Hulk. Hulk look at arms, at... weapons on them. Weapons that hurt. Tony never hurt Hulk, never. "Tony is doing what Tony should've done months ago."

In mind, Hulk feel Banner poking, moving to front. Hulk not let him out. Tony acting fun, might hurt puny Banner. Banner doesn't push, but stays up, like he listening.

"Tony take off suit."

"I don't take orders from you." Tony spits out, angry. "I don't take orders from monsters made from laboratory accidents."

Tony sound like all those people not like Hulk, but Tony never talk like that, never. But - angry. Angry from the memories, from the words. They hurt.

Hulk, this is Tony! Bruce says in mind, insists. He doesn't mean it! He - He can't... something has to be wrong!

Bruce right; Tony never say things. Tony give Hulk and Bruce home, take care of them, call them friend. Make them happy.

"Something wrong with Tony." Hulk says. "Tony take off suit."

"Man, you really are a dumbass." Tony sighs, still in air, shaking head. Then - BANG BANG BANG BANG.

Guns shoot Hulk from armor, sting skin, like guns always do. Pain, pain, hide. Run! Must run, must hide. Ross will find, Ross will hurt!

Ross is dead, Hulk! Bruce shouts inside him, deafening. There's something wrong here! Don't hurt Tony, please, just let me out! I have to talk to him!

No, Banner can't be let out. Puny Banner be hurt.

"What do you need me to say, huh?" Tony flies round Hulk, shrugging. "That I lied? That I led you on? I'll admit, I've never gone this far for a quick lay. Most people don't say no to Tony Stark for that long. But hey! I was bored, you were fucking gorgeous, so who can blame me for trying?" Tony lands on ground, hands on hips, keeps talking. "I got so close, too. But then you ran off to 'get something', really? Because no one's used that excuse before."

Hulk doesn't understand. Sadness radiates from Bruce, sadness that burns and aches like when Betty left, when Betty was afraid. Hulk doesn't like sadness.

"So, whatever. Lost cause. Get out, freak."

Freak. Word hurts so bad, so much, more because - because Tony. Tony never say words.

Hulk, just - please. Calm down. This can't be him, it, it just can't be!

Tony lift arms again, aim at him. "Sore about it? Fine. Let's go, big guy. Maybe if I take you out I can sell your corpse to science. Somebody ought to pay for that, right?"

Anger. Anger, rage, bubbling up.

Hulk, please, no!

\---------------------------

Clint bursts into the room and feels his heart turn to solid ice.

Coulson stands in the center of the room, power radiating off him, a chilly blue permeating the air like an aura. He's got McTaggert behind him, Xavier to the side of both of them, and Natasha is on the ground, holding her head like she was just thrown into the wall.

Clint takes this all in, storms into the room with his bow drawn and his eyes wide, seeing the images put unable to understand them, mind blanking at the sight, confused beyond words.

"Coulson?" He asks, stepping forward. "Phil!"

The man glances to him, head cocked slightly. He says nothing, just stares at him with that vivid blue, eerie gaze, and behind him, Moira barks an order.

"Take them out!"

Coulson nods, and Clint doesn't feel alive, this is a dream, it's not real, his heart has shattered and his lungs aren't working and this can't be real -

He defends himself at the last moment, blocking Coulson's attack, but it rocks through him like nothing else, heavy and potent beyond what an older, ordinary human being should be capable of. There's a killer look in Coulson's eyes, and Clint can barely see it through the tears.

"Phil, what the hell are you doing?"

"You should run, Clint." The man says evenly. "I would rather not destroy you." Then with a flick of his arm, Coulson break's Clint's guard and tosses him like he's light as air, and the archer crashes in a heap next to Natasha.

He struggles to his feet, blurry vision catching sight of War Machine and the mutants taking on Coulson. Four against one still isn't working; Coulson's fast and meanly strong, and he's tossing them about and smacking heads together like it's nothing. Like - like these aren't his allies, like he's not even on their side -

"Clint," A voice is at his ear, Tasha's voice. "Clint, get them out of here, remember the mission. Mission first, this comes later."

"What the fuck is happening?" He whispers, turning his head. "Tasha, what -?"

"I don't know Clint, but we have to get Xavier and -"

"I'm not leaving him!"

Clint's never leaving him, not again, he's never going to fail him like before, to allow the person he cares about most, the one that makes life worth it on the worst of days to be dragged along and used by this government suit, to be torn apart from the inside like he was, to be remade -

"Clint, we can't -"

But he's standing, drunkenly, misery in his eyes, running across the room, arming his bow, and he's after McTaggert, or the staff, anything to stop this, to fix this, because this can't be broken, not when everything else is broken, he needs this to not be broken -

He lets the arrow fly, but suddenly Coulson is right there, and he grabs the arrow from midair, and Clint can only stare in stunned horror and utter devastation as the man he loves flips the arrow around and shoves it through Clint's chest.

\--------------------------

If he could have through the gag, Tony would have thrown up by now.

The bile coming out of his - out of the copy of him, because that's what this has to be, that copy cat mimicking his voice - oh god, it's so true. Not that it is true, that he believes it, but that it fits the truth people believe about him, the things people think about him. God, Lensherr did his research, because this is spot on, this is an expose of all his worst flaws, and there's no way Bruce isn't going to fall for it because he is so close to actually being this monster that it's not too hard to believe he'd go that far.

At least he won't have to live with the knowledge he tore apart Bruce's heart for very long.

The anger is clear on Hulk's face, he is absolutely furious, and the smashing is probably about to start and Tony really wishes it would, anything would be better than this agony, imprisoned and in a hell of his own making, his own torrid past coming to haunt him, his own failures.

Hulk's moving, in the blink of an eye he's right next to Tony, wrapping a hand around his head, about to pop it right off, and Tony is so deep in his own self loathing that his only regret is that Bruce will never know that he didn't mean it, that he'll always think back on them with hurt and pain, when it was all a lie, Bruce is worth so much more than this -

Tony keeps thinking about it, and in doing so realizes his head has not, in fact, been squeezed like a grape. The Hulk is just holding it, hand wrapped around Tony's head.

"Tony shut up now," Hulk insists. "Tony make Hulk mad."

Tony... can't believe what he's hearing. The Hulk isn't hurting him. He's trying to make him shut up, to end the source of his anger without actually killing that source, which is sort've fucking amazing because it proves what Tony's been saying all along? And it's also kinda a miracle because Tony had be so sure he was about to die, and a miserable part of him is disappointed because this is hell, he wants to escape this, wants to run away from this.

"Tony say sorry."

Oh he wants to, so much, and he tries, and the metal won't unfold from his mouth.

"Bite me, Banner." Then the suit is rocketing him skyward, and he punches Hulk in the face and the big guy stumbles back, and when he turns his head Tony sees the hurt in his eyes, barely overshadowing the rage, and his heart twists more and more. He will kill Lensherr, he'll tear him to pieces.

"Tony stop being mean!" Hulk, instead of acting on his anger, steps back further, rubbing at his chin. "Tony will be yelled at by Captain!" 

Tony is hit suddenly with the realization that the Hulk understands their team dynamics, their interactions, before the suit throws him forward and he starts pummeling the big guy. Hulk blocks attacks, he dodges, but he never throws a single punch. Never retaliates, never hits back. Tears are flowing freely down Tony's face, hard and fast, watching the pain blossom on Hulk's face even as he holds himself in check.

"Tony not like this." Hulk insists fervently, grabbing both of Tony's arms and holding them so he can't move. "Tony wrong. Something Tony wrong." He can see their eye color shifting, hears the silence as Hulk talks to Bruce and Bruce, Tony sobs behind the gag, oh Bruce don't believe this please, don't please. But Tony knows it's long past the time anyone would ever believe him when the evidence suggested that he was the complete utter asshole everyone thought he was.

"You idiot! I used you, you moron! I don't care about you or Bruce Banner, I wanted a good lay and that was it, and since I'm not getting that, you can go on and skedaddle!"

"Hulk Avenger." The green guy insists. God, Tony could just cry about Hulk alone, about his earnest belief in Tony, his continuing persistence, but it can't last long, no one really believes in Tony Stark. "Avengers live in house."

"Fuck the Avengers. A good publicity stunt and that was it." Fake-Tony's voice practically sounds like it's sneering. "What, is that what's getting you? I can kick them out, too. I'm Tony fucking Stark! I don't give a shit!"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. This isn't - he can't - goddamn you Lensherr!

Hulk looks so confused, so frustrated. His eyes are still flashing, back and forth, as if he and Bruce are in constant conversation, and suddenly Hulk drops Tony's arms.

In that moment, when Hulk lets him go and Tony falls with a thud to the ground, the man suddenly realizes the suit is free. He's free! The metal bar over his mouth falls off, and he is able to move by his own choice for the first time in the last ten minutes. 

Relief floods him, followed by a well of terror as he feels the weight of the momentous pain that's been inflicted here, of the huge betrayal, the heaviness of having to try and somehow make this right. How the hell can he make this right?

But before he can even think to stand, to try and say a word, he hears the Hulk moving. A long, low groan rumbles through the air, then the sound of pressure exploding as the Hulk leaps into the air. Panic hits Tony in the chest, along with the devastating feeling that something has been ruined that can never be repaired. He rips the helmet off, cutting himself in the process, turning and facing the direction Hulk leapt off in.

"HULK!" He screeches at the night sky. "BRUCE! HULK! PLEASE, COME BACK, IT WASN'T ME! IT WASN'T ME!"

He keeps yelling for at least fifteen minutes, screaming himself hoarse at an empty sky. Stumbling to his knees, breathing hard and shaking head to toe, Tony looks at his hands and he sees blood, the blood of his guilt, the mark of his past, always coming back to haunt him. He sees memories, sees two graves and a lifetime of pain and life is shit. Life is shit and Tony Stark is shit, and if there's anything anyone will ever be willing to believe of him, it's the worst thing. Absolutely, everyone will always be able to believe the worst of him.

Standing, an ever darkening grimace on his face, Tony puts the helmet back on his head. His heart is cold, frigid, chest aching from exertion, eyes bloodshot and sore, and he feels like he's been burned alive. Like he isn't alive anymore. 

Tony Stark takes to the air, fueled only by simmering rage and the need to make sure no one, not a single other member of his team or the people he cares about are targeted, that he does not become a reason to hurt anyone else. He takes off in the opposite direction of the Hulk, no destination in mind, he just flies. And flies. And flies. Disappears over the horizon, fades away into the distance, and doesn't plan on coming back.


	23. Cliff's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It looks like the end - but it isn't, not yet.

WARNING: This chapter contains extensive discussion of suicidal thoughts and experiences. If you do not wish to read these passages, do not read any of the sections that are written from Clint or Tony's points of view.

When the Avenger's phones go off, altering them to trouble, Jane Foster breathes a sigh of relief.

She knows she was supposed to have enjoyed the evening - that was the point of a date, after all - but now, she just wants it to be over. 'Terrible' is an understatement.

On the outside, the idea of an evening with Thor and Steve Rogers, two of the most handsome and all-around amazing people on the planet, sounds fantastic. Though she'd been nervous at first, Jane had quickly warmed up to the idea. But in the execution, there were... problems.

Dating requires a certain level of understanding between people: of mutual interests and experiences. Thor and Steve certainly have that. They're both warriors and soldiers, who have known leadership and its trials, and they're both Avengers. They have plenty of things in common.

Jane and Thor have common experiences, and can relate in that way. They know each other rather well, given how many very deeply personal conversations they've shared since all this superhero stuffed started. But compared to Thor and Steve, well... she really doesn't hold up.

Jane is a scientist. Thor comes from a land of 'magic', and while there may be Asgardian scientists Thor is certainly not one of them. Steve, meanwhile, can barely use a cell phone. Her major field of interest is literally rocket science to them. As for pop culture, books or movies, neither of them know of anything. Thor only knows what Jane and the Avengers have introduced him to, which isn't much, and Steve is seventy years behind and still trying to catch up. The fact that he's that far behind, and that Thor's from another world, means that any generic conversation about the world economy or politics or history or famous people or literally anything goes nowhere.

So, Jane honestly has nothing to say. At all. Not that she doesn't try - but her references to Mel Brooks movies and her direct quotes of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings adaptation don't go over well. Neither do her astrophysicist comments, though both men try very hard to listen and understand, but she sees their eyes glaze over at 'quantum mechanics' and 'stellar dynamics'.

Most of the date turns out to be play-by-plays of old battles from WW2 or Asgard, of things that the Avengers have done, of experiences Thor and Steve shared. Jane spends a lot of time listening. Honestly, it's not a bad evening. It's just not how she would hope a date would go, at all.

She hoped tonight would help her grow closer to Steve and maybe find a way to connect with her boyfriend and this new entry into their relationship, to find a way to make this work. Her heart sinks as she realizes the exact opposite has happened: she's found proof that it's really not working. At least, she thinks as she looks at the boys, it's not working for her.

"What's going on?" She asks, standing as her two dates standing, watching with concern as their gazes grow serious.

"Something's gone wrong with Clint and Natasha's mission," Steve explains. He looks up, smiling, and walks around the table to Jane. "I'm so sorry but we have to cut this short."

In that instance, looking into Steve's very blue, very repentent eyes, Jane feels a little surge of hope. Maybe they can work this out. One date can't be a sure sign this thing is dead in the water, right? He takes hold of her hand, squeezes it gently, and her heart lifts a little.

"Shall I fly us to the mansion?" Thor steps towards both of them, eyes dancing back and forth, and Steve nods. They start to walk outside, with Steve standing between them, and somehow as they move Steve and Thor simply gravitate to one another, their hands intertwining. Steve doesn't reach out for Jane's hand, and Thor's a little too far away to reach.

That's all right, Jane tells herself. Relationships are give and take. No one is the center of attention all the time. But as she allows herself to lag back a little, watching the two walk hand in hand with such exuberant joy radiating off them, she can't help but wonder about her own questionable place beside them.

\-----------------

Charles Xavier watches the building explode around him and contemplates death.

It's been a close companion, these last few years; something haunting him, a shade around every corner. After everything, everyone that he's lost... considering death was inevitable. Especially given that he has felt it, that he has known death, and it is a feeling that has never left him.

Sometimes, he has considered allowing himself to die. To simply not wake up in the morning. The need to care for his children, his family, kept him going, when nothing else could. The temptation, at times, became so great it was all he could do not to do something drastic. The anguish required some kind of outlet, some way of release, and death was the one his mind kept returning to.

Now, watching as the ground cracks and shatters beneath him, feeling himself rolling down the incline towards the gaping hole that has been torn in the wall, he suddenly very much wants to live. He hasn't felt this strongly about clinging to life for a very long time. His heartbeat picks up, palms slick against the armrest, and he grips them tight and wants to live. Madly, desperately, he wants to survive this.

His chances are very slim. Phil Coulson has, somehow, become an almost unstoppable being, and the few X-Men in the room with him are weakened by their mistreatment and the drugs in their systems. Clint Barton has been stabbed brutally through the shoulder and appears to be in the midst of a breakdown of sorts, and it is all Natasha Romanoff can do to keep him alive. It is only when the War Machine bursts into the room, taking over the action, that Romanoff is able to drag Barton away, kicking and screaming.

By that point, Xavier is separated from the others by the gaping holes in the floor, the crumbling framework of the building, and a very powerful friend-turned-foe. He sees Natasha look up at him, discerning eyes realizing what he's already known for the last few minutes: she can't help him. They're barely making it out, as is.

He hears his X-Men crying out in rebellion at the idea of leaving him, but there is no other choice. There's nothing they can do but throw their lives away if they come after him. This is it, the end - the thunder of cracking steel and construction echoes all around, his descent increasing faster and faster. He feels as if he should be fighting, struggling to live, but there is absolutely nothing he can do.

He sees War Machine attempting to come closer to him, to help him, but Coulson continuously cuts him off. Moira is gone; undoubtedly escaping, leaving her lackey behind to ensure Xavier's death. Perhaps it is only fair. After what he did to her, what he suspects the effects were upon her... she deserves some kind of justice.

It is with that, clinging tightly to resignation and trying to convince himself that he shouldn't feel afraid or regretful, that Xavier feels his wheelchair finally enter open air and he falls.

Sheer panic blows every thought away, and for one shining moment it is blissfully quiet in his head. Part of that is the suppressor Moira has him wearing, part is the absolute terror overtaking him. He's about to die. This time, he's not just feeling another person die inside his head, he is really going to die.

No, He thinks suddenly. Not now, not here.

Please.

In his panic, he does not realize that his descent is slowing to a halt; that he is being somehow levitated out of harm's way, away from the exploding building. When he does realize, looking in shock at his chair, which has taken on a life of his own, the truth hits him like a freight train and he gasps, and can't help but say aloud,

"Erik!"

\----------------

Steve feels like he's walking on air.

He's never been on a date, not once. Other than that evening of dancing he'd planned to have with Peggy, he'd never had the chance. Sometimes, he'd even wondered why it mattered so much to so many. Now he has an idea why.

Being with Thor in a relaxed environment, away from the mansion and all their friends, able to just talk and be free around each other... it was enchanting. And while Steve doesn't have strong feelings for Jane Foster, she is a wonderful person and very charming. He likes her. He's pretty sure she's very sharp and funny, he just doesn't understand half of it. Though, at first, he thought he would feel strange with a third person on the date, he really didn't. It felt... natural, somehow.

He can't really explain it. No, he doesn't have feelings for Jane - how could he? He's known her for just a few days and spoken to her maybe twice, before tonight. But where he'd thought her presence would make him feel... jealous, agitated, angry at being denied time with the person he cares about, in fact he felt comfortable. It was a warm evening with a lot of easy going talk, and Jane being there didn't make it awkward at all.

Steve wonders why that is. He's not really sure - he just knows that all those things he'd been told men were supposed to feel about their sweethearts, he didn't feel. Jealousy and possession simply weren't present. He looks at Thor, and he looks at Thor with Jane, and he sees a beautiful couple who feel really strongly about each other, and that's great. He thinks he should be jealous, when Thor throws a meaningful look Jane's way, but he's not. He feels safe, he feels... like he's a part of it. A part of something.

He feels Thor begin to descend and comes out of his thoughts. Whatever this is, and whatever he feels about it, will simply have to wait. Clint and Natasha need his help. A gasp hits his ear and he turns to Jane, in Thor's other arm.

"What's wrong?"

"Look!" She points, and Steve turns his head towards the west wing of the mansion - smoke and fire are rising there, whole walls have collapsed and the building is sinking in, much like how Steve's chest is sinking lower and lower.

"By thunder..." He hears Thor mutter. Next he knows they're on the ground, and Thor is barreling across the grass. Steve follows, cursing himself for allowing this evening to happen. It was stupid, foolishly selfish. To go on a date of all things, when they were in the middle of a war and one of their own was being threatened! Imagination flaring to life with ideas of what might've happened, of who might be hurt, drive Steve to run faster.

"JARVIS!" Steve shouts as they run inside. "JARVIS?" No reply - Steve's heartbeat skyrockets, fear doubling, and his eyes dart to Thor's. All it takes is that look, and both are running, beginning to search the building. They each take off in a separate direction.

Fifteen minutes later, he runs into Jane at the fourth floor elevator. "Find anyone?"

"Nothing - nobody's here." Jane's breathing hard, face pale, panic clear in her voice. "Oh god, what do you - what could have happened?"

Steve has some ideas and none of them are pretty, and by now he's convinced there's no one here. So he returns to the main floor and searches out the area that's most destroyed, Jane hot on his heels.

Thor's already there when they arrive. "Find anything?" He gives a grim shake of his head, and anxiety chokes Steve, tightens his throat and his gut. He bites back a curse and eyes the area.

The devastation is total. The couch is crushed, walls torn apart and battered with impact craters, the ceiling caving in halfway and the few lights that work flickering off and on.

"It looks like they were fighting in here." He sees burn marks from Tony's repulsors, the impressions of giant fists and feet everywhere.

"Someone must've gotten into the building and attacked them." He hears Jane speak behind him, nervousness making her voice shake, and he lifts his gaze to Thor. In his dark expression, he sees the warrior has realized the same thing he has.

There's no sign of a third party, no hint of an invading force: just Hulk and Iron Man.

Drifting towards Thor, Steve keeps examining the surroundings. "Could it be they were - experimenting or goofing off or something?" He tries to keep his voice down but even Captain America can't keep panic and pain completely at bay when his loved ones are in danger.

Thor, seeming to realize this, reaches out and places a hand around Steve's waist. "I do not believe so." The god says softly, gently, as if to a child. "See the patterns?" He points at the movements across the floor, their steps in the battle. "Hulk holds his ground. More of the impact of his feet than his fists can be seen, and none of these craters in the wall are the size of the Man of Iron. Tony was the aggressor here."

Tony? Attack the Hulk? "He'd never do that."

Thor gives a grunt but Steve recognizes the tone as agreement. "Not by choice."

The implications are heart-wrenching, and once again Steve blames himself, feeling stabbed by self-loathing. Remembers Tony's face hours ago, bright and irreverent, telling them someone ought to go be happy when Steve had known fully well doing so would leave Stark alone and put him at risk. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Another beep on the phone - Steve glances down. It's Natasha confirming that they got away, asking to immediately rendezvous with the team at the mansion. A sigh of relief runs down through Steve's bones. At least he knows they are safe. If the team can just get together and keep together, they'll find Tony and Bruce and figure out -

"What's going on?"

That's Jane. Steve turns, but she's looking in awe at Thor. So Steve turns again - just in time to see Thor fade in a bright whirlwind of colors, and disappear.

\------------------

The escape, the panicked run to get away, finding a new ride home, and driving however many hours from where they were to where home was... Clint remembers none of it. Vague flashes of Natasha, of being guided along, held by various hands, but it's so distant, like someone else lived it. He's numb. His mind repeats the same images and thoughts over and over again, everything outside him is a blur, like a distant dream.

When he comes back from it, from that brink of oblivion, he's sitting in a locked room in the mansion. His eyes catch the cameras in the room as they dart about, and he snorts. This is suicide watch. Typical SHIELD bullshit. He paces the room, fists clenching, body tense from head to toe, vibrating with a feeling that goes beyond anger into a level that makes Clint's vision go white at the edges.

There are no words for this. No poetic waxing, no emotional drivel that could describe the abyss of darkness Clint has been plunged into. It's endless, agonizing, twisting his soul into shattered pieces that prick and burn and bleed. He feels like he's dead already.

The door to the room opens. "Go away Natasha," he spits out, not bothering to turn.

"It's Steve," The man says, and of course it is, Clint can hear the difference in their footfalls, in their pace. Why didn't he notice immediately? Knowing his surroundings is the key to survival; Coulson would be so -

"Get out!" Spinning around, Clint grabs the nearest thing and throws it - a lamp on a bedside table, which shatters against the wall past Steve. They both know that, even now, Clint's aim is good enough that he could've hit him if he wanted to. "Get the fuck out."

"I don't think that will help."

"Nothing helps," Clint spits back. Loss is loss. Nothing helps it, nothing makes it go away. He should've known better than to ever believe Coulson was back, to ever think his mistakes could be so easily forgiven or forgotten, and now he's paying in the worst fucking way.

"I know it feels that way," Steve looks so forlorn, so upset, and Clint wants to punch him. What the fuck has he lost? He has no right to look like that. He should - he should be better than this, dammit. Clint's the one who can't keep his shit together.

"You don't know shit."

"I've lost people, too." Yeah, Clint knows that, and guilt makes his throat taste like ash, but he doesn't apologize. In the back of his mind, unending, he hears the mantra, Coulson Coulson Coulson! "A lot of people. But this is more than that, I know that."

Clint doesn't speak. He stands, so tense he might explode, whole body vibrating with it, and he wants to hit something, hurt something. Every time he blinks he sees Coulson, bathed in blue light, Coulson with those empty eyes, Coulson stabbing him, betraying them -

"There are losses, and then there are losses. People you can't believe you could ever live without." Something dark comes over Cap's face and Clint barely notices. He's lost in the darkness, himself. "I lost somebody like that, once."

This has the sounds of a sympathy story about it. Clint snorts, but he doesn't tell Steve to shut up because this is Captain America, trying to comfort him. Might as well let him try.

"I had someone... he was like the star in my night sky. During the war, things were so hard, sometimes it seemed like I'd never come out the other side. He was there for me, kept me going, led me through the night. When I lost him... felt like I'd be lost forever. But I found another star, somebody to keep me going. And after I lost her, lost everyone... I found you guys." Steve takes a step closer. "I know it feels impossible right now, but you'll find your way."

Sputtering laughter interrupts, because this is hilarious. He just - he can't handle how fucking sad and funny and horrible all this shit is. "Nice try Cap. Very touching story, but that's not how it works."

Steve's trying very hard not to look hurt, but Clint is good at reading faces. "It's not?"

"No, you see, Co - he," He can't say the name, maybe he'll never say it again. "He wasn't my fucking star. He was the goddamn sun, the center of my universe." Suddenly he can't just hold it all in anymore, tightly contained rage shattering as he leaps across the room and into Steve's face. "You know what happens when the sun goes out? Everything dies. No life, no hope, nothing. End of the line." Steve stares him down, eyes slightly wide but he doesn't react to how vicious, how in-your-face Clint is being, even as the archer creates room between them again. Turns away, tries to tuck his anger and pain back in where he won't have to face it.

"That's not healthy, Barton."

He laughs again and it tastes bitter. "I never said I was."

\------------------

In the wilderness of Northern Canada, in a cascade of fallen trees, a large green figure sits hunched in the snow.

He's not as big as he should be, and not as green either. Neither Hulk or Banner, but somehow both, this figure sits still upon the ground, curled into himself, hands over his head. The figure is inside himself, as if he is asleep, but he's not dreaming - he's reaching out, to the Other within.

Bruce and Hulk both are reaching for each other, but between them is a chasm, an abyss which even the Hulk cannot cross over. Hulk stands on one side, calls to Banner, shouts loud. Banner can't hear, and he can't hear puny Banner over loud wind. Bruce shouts himself hoarse, screams past the point of hurting, because the Hulk needs to understand. Tony is in danger, the whole team is probably in danger! They are needed. Hulk stomps feet, howls. Banner no listen. Hulk confused, angry. Tony hurt. Hulk friend, but Tony hurt. Why? Why Banner not explain? Why Tony hurt them?

Helpless and hopeless, Bruce looks around. There's nothing but fog and the ground beneath him, and the chasm which seems never-ending. It's so wide, he can't imagine how anyone could ever get across, he can barely see the Hulk's enormous body on the other side. But he has to reach him! A lot of people are depending on them - Tony needs them.

Hulk thinks should jump, steps back to jump. But feels shock of fear - not his fear. Can still feel Bruce, but can't reach him. Bits and pieces come through, like always, but like always not enough. Bits and pieces aren't good enough anymore! Hulk want more!

He reaches out to the Hulk the way he always does, like he's poking his brain and trying to coax something out, but this time there's a wall between them. Something he can't trespass. He's gone deep, deep into his mind, but now they're at a stalement. This is as far as he can go, but why? Why can't he and Hulk fully reach each other?

Bruce must let Hulk have more! Snarling, Hulk bends his knees, gets ready. Thinks of Bruce, thinks towards him, trying to tell him. Bruce must let Hulk in!

Suddenly the green figure is airborne and Bruce can't help the fearful outcry that tears out of his throat. Hulk will never make it! What happens if he falls in that abyss? What if they never come out of this? "Hulk, no!"

"LET HULK IN!"

"What?" Stunned, Bruce watches as Hulk continues up, up, further and further, but it's not going to be enough.

"LET HULK IN!"

What does that even mean? The Hulk is already 'in'! Inside Bruce's mind, his body, overtaking him. Bruce couldn't shove him out if he wanted to. They're as much a part of each other as two 'people' can be, what more does Hulk want?

He's coming down, and Bruce feels his heart hammering, and vaguely he wonders when he actually started caring about the Hulk. Being with the Avengers, feeling that the Hulk had a place in the world, that made him hate him less. But caring about his safety? This is... this is different. Yet it is right there, making his heart race and his palms sweat.

Hulk's still falling, and Bruce doesn't know what to do, he's useless, he's no superhero, the Hulk is the hero -

"LET HULK IN!"

Still confused beyond belief, Bruce watches Hulk descend with ever growing panic, and suddenly he just knows what to do. Doesn't understand, is unsure if he's even doing the right thing, but he just feels like he has to. Bruce runs to the edge, leaps at the very last second, and reaches out for the Hulk with all he's worth.

"HULK!" He screams as he begins to fall, not gaining anywhere near as much air as the Hulk had. "TAKE MY HAND!" It's not like he could save the guy, but somehow this seems right, like this is what he has to do.

Hulk seems to understand; there's this look in his eye, something serious and determined. When they finally come close together, the Other Guy reaches out, and his big hand envelops Bruce with a gentle touch, and the world fades away in a flash of white light.

\-------------------

The sunrise over the grand canyon is glorious. If he were in his right state of mind, Tony might be enjoying it. Scratch that, there's no way Tony would ever enjoy just staring at a big bunch of rocks. Semi-impressive rocks, he'll admit, but still rocks.

As it is, he's not even looking at the rocks. He's staring at the empty air, running numbers through his head (as always), weighing the equations, checking out the variables, trying to decide whether to take that one step forward or not. It's very tempting. A lot of the variables weigh in that direction. And he's not even drunk yet, though there's a twelve pack he bought in a store on the way. He hasn't opened them yet. Once he does, he thinks the drop will look even better.

"Enjoying the view?"

He startles bad, tumbles right off the cliff and by instinct activates the suit and takes to the air. He's floating there, turning around to face the newcomer with wide, stunned eyes.

The stranger is a man around Tony's age, with dark hair that's greying at the roots and in some of the bangs across his forehead. He's handsome, tall, has a sleek build and is wearing a suit that Tony knows is expensive because he recognizes the brand. The guy is just standing there, hands at his side, looking for all the world like a relaxed tourist, except for the part where he's in a suit and looks completely out of place.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Tony barks, still floating. "I could've died! I - shit!" Suddenly he realizes his hand is empty, and looks down to see his beer plummeting far below. "Damn it! That was my last meal!"

"A very common 'meal' for Tony Stark." The newcomer says. It's vaguely humorous, but not very much, as if he's afraid making light of Tony dying might encourage Tony not to take it seriously, either.

"Yes, thank you, I'm Tony Stark, now move along before I move you." He settles back down on the ground, glaring daggers at the stranger, who's smiling gently and softly like Tony is a kid to be indulged and it's fucking annoying.

"I don't think I shall." The stranger finally says. "I believe I am needed here."

"Needed - why?" Frowning, Tony crosses his arms, as much as he can in the suit. "Oh, was this your spot? Well, then I guess I'll just skedaddle along and kill myself on a different cliff, does that help?"

"Of course not." Somehow he's still managing that benign smile. "Your death would be the opposite of 'help', for anyone."

Snorting, Tony turns away. "What do you know. For all I know you could be a hallucination, a - a figment of my brain here to talk me down or talk me into it, or something. I'm Tony Stark, weirder things have happened."

"I'm no figment." The man's voice grows stronger, surer. "And I know a great deal besides your name. I know that you have been the target of a man named Erik Lensherr, that he has been attempting to tear the Avengers apart and may very well have succeeded last night. I also know that he's not done."

At Lensherr's name, fury overtakes Tony and he spins back around, nostrils flaring. "You work for him? Here to finish the job?" Powering up again, he takes to the air and the front of the helmet snaps down. "Try me."

"I work for no one, Tony Stark, and for everyone. My employment is the guardianship of this world."

"That sounds like a load of shit to me." Tony insists. He's on edge, already torn to pieces by all this shit, unsure of what to do. Then suddenly this guy comes along with a bunch of knowledge he shouldn't have, throwing Tony for a loop when he'd come all the way out here to the fucking Grand Canyon to kill himself because hey, if Tony Stark is going to die, he's going to die in the fucking Grand Canyon.

Something in the man's eyes changes. His gaze narrows, and he turns to contemplate the cliff's edge. "I stood there once." He says quietly. "Not this cliff, but it matters little. I stood upon an edge, somewhere in the world, ready to die."

He really shouldn't care about this, this is really fucking weird and stupid but some vulnerable, hurting, weak part of him, the part that's torn to shreds and sobbing inside, makes him speak up in a broken voice. "What'd you do?"

"I jumped." The man says plainly. Tony's on the ground again, though he barely realized he'd descended, and he's staring intently at the stranger. "Someone caught me." The man turns to face Tony. "I was hoping I might stop you before I had to go to such lengths."

"Why?" He could be asking, why stop me? Or why did you try to jump? Or a number of other questions. He doesn't clarify. The stranger steps closer, lifting his hands.

Tony immediately realizes his hands are injured. There are scars on his palms, and the fingers don't move naturally. They're strangely close together, the knuckles seemingly stuck like they can't bend at all, and they tremble slightly when the man moves his hands. There's no way this guy could so much as hold a coffee cup with his fingers as they are.

"Accident?" Tony asks dryly.

"Car crash." The man says. "I was a surgeon."

"Yeah," Tony mutters, thinking of losing his hands, losing his ability to create. "So, suicide."

"Someone saved me."

Snorting, Tony turns his head. "Maybe they saved your miserable existence but they couldn't give you your hands back."

"Well..." A bright smile comes over the man did. "In a way, they did." Then he ways his arms, and - and a blue light overtakes him, and his clothing begins to vanish, being replaced by a strange uniform, with baggy black pants and a billowing blue shirt, a gold belt around his waist, and a long red cloak. Tony feels a sense of begrudging acceptance overcome him.

"Of course." He starts. "Because this is my life. I couldn't be bothered by the ordinary concerned citizen, I had to be found by the magical one."

"Tony Stark," The man begins again. "My name is Dr. Stephen Strange, and I believe we can help one another."


	24. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What remains of the team regroups, and Thor has a family reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to invite all of you, if you have a tumblr, to follow 'thegamingmuse'. It's my account and it's where I've started posting about this story and my Avengers headcanons. Check the 'queer avengers' tag to see it.
> 
> You might also want to check out my 'queer league' tag, for Justice League head canons. Just in case you're curious about future crossovers I have planned for the Avengers... ;D (that's to answer your question about a possible sequel, reviewer!)

Natasha walks into the living room on the third floor of the house, and all but crash upon the couch.

Most of the house will have to be rebuilt. Entire floors have begun collapsing in upon themselves, whole wings of the house completely trashed. It would worry her, their not having a safe house to live in... if there weren't so much else on their plate.

She looks up, and gazes across a sea of disturbed faces, of friends and strangers with downturned eyes. Beast, Havoc, and Banshee are gathered in one corner of the room, acting territorially protective of themselves and their teammates, but they don't seem to be all that defensive. Beast seems to be constantly alert, but Banshee has slid back into the pillows, and Havoc appears half asleep. They aren't afraid of the Avengers. Perhaps they realize how helpless they are right now, how little they could do even if they wanted to.

Three Avengers are missing in action, and a fourth has been compromised and may not be able to return to the field for a long time, perhaps forever. It's not a thought Natasha likes to entertain, but it's one she's considered these past months. She's watched him decline over time, falling prey to alcohol and misery, refusing to even admit he might need help. Now, it may be too late. Clint had already been so torn apart. When Coulson came back, it was like he was himself again.

She doesn't think he'll survive losing him twice. Especially not... forcing the thoughts away, Natasha lifts her gaze again.

James Rhodes re-enters the room, and the fury on his face betrays the results of his exercise. He throws his phone at the couch where it bounces harmlessly. "No response from either of them."

"Tony's not answering you?" Steve's voice is weak but there's a thread of desperate strength running through it, of a man on the edge who knows he can't let himself tumble off the cliff just yet.

"We can't get ahold of Thor, either." It bothers her, that he simply vanished, no trace, and no way for them to reach him. They'll have to deal with that, eventually - the distance between Thor's world and this one is a grave risk should they ever find themselves in a sudden emergency with no way of contacting Thor - but right now, she's more worried that he didn't leave willingly, that someone took him away. Who?

\---------------------

Blurriness, dizziness, a fog of nausea... groaning, he sits up, rubbing his head, feeling as if a stampede of wild griffins had trampled him... there is something... buzzing in his mind, some thought, some need... he is needed...

Thor sits up, coming back to himself slowly and steadily, with a growing sense of alarm.

He is not on Earth, that much is certain, and he did not come here of his own will. Standing, he glances through blurry eyes at his surroundings, still struggling to make sense of the world. It all came back to him, gradually, until he could see that he was standing in a cell, and his brother was standing opposite him.

He was filthy, hair long and matted, clothing tattered and torn, but there was a look on his face, so wide-eyed and bright, that managed to make him beautiful. Almost glorious, like he was of old, as a Son of Odin and heir to Asgard. As Thor's brother. For a moment all the Thunderer can do is stare in shock and awe at his brother, standing closer to him than he has in more than a year, unsure of how he even came to be here.

"Welcome home, brother."

"Loki...?" He starts, the fog over his thoughts lifting. The danger, the threat, returns to him. "Did you summon me here? I must return to Midgard, my team has need of me!"

"Yes, yes," Loki sighs, his voice dryer and raspier than before. "The Mighty Thor, always with places to go, people to see."

The anger at Loki's audacity, his selfishness blinds him for a moment. Then it comes to him, and his mouth drops open. "That is a mortal saying."

Loki blinks, and looks slightly taken aback. "I... never mind. That's not what I summoned you here for."

"And what did you summon me for?"

"If you'll be quiet, I'll tell you!" He's still the way Thor remembers he was when last he visited; impatient, always angry, seemingly on the edge of some great dark descent. If he hasn't started falling already. "You are right, your mortal allies have need of you. But you will not be enough, not this time."

Thor cocks an eyebrow. "That is so?"

"It is." Loki grins, but the look is tired and worn out on him. His usual energy and charisma have been worn away to almost nothing but haggard remnants. "What they face now, they cannot face alone. Even as far as here, I can feel what comes after them. It is magic, beyond the scope of mortals and even Asgard!"

"You boast!" Thor harrumps, certain he knows where this is going. "You mean to make me release you, a vein attempt for freedom by promising to aid my friends!"

"Tis no boast, brother." Loki stalks toward him, and Thor holds his ground. "You know I have seen things... been places... darker and deeper than any that reside on Midgard or Asgard. There is a magic rising on Midgard which should never have been touched nor tampered with. Your precious mortal fools have opened a Pandora's box, and they cannot shut it back themselves!"

Another human saying. "You have been spying." Thor narrows his eyes. "Watching Midgard. Somehow, you are able to see beyond this cell."

Loki suddenly appears very proud. "I told you, Thor, I am... different than I was. Even the AllFather cannot subdue me, not completely." Coming closer, he stands chest to chest with his brother, staring him down. "Which is why I say you need me. Or, your dear mortals need me. This magic must be stopped or it shall consume Midgard, and I am the only one who can stop it."

There is truth ringing in his words - the scenario fits will with everything else which has occurred. Magic was used to bring Coulson back from the dead. It could be behind many of the other feats these two factions have accomplished.

"One question." Thor insists. "Answer me truthfully, and I shall give you a chance to prove you mean to truly help Midgard."

Loki scowls, crossing his arm. "Fine. What is it?"

"You told me you reserrected the Son of Coul." Thor starts. Loki's eyes narrow further. "You did tell me so, do not deny it. My question is... why?"

His brother's look remains the same: distant, irritated, uncaring. Thor examines his eyes, trying to find some light from within, something that might prove Loki was not only this wretched, fallen thing he had become. That he might be as he once was. That he might stand with Thor again.

Loki's expression does not change; he says nothing. Minutes pass before Thor sighs and gestures to the door, striding towards it with purpose.

\---------------------

"No Iron Man, no Hulk, and no Thor..." Alex Summers starts. "You're down half the team, and you still want to take Magneto on?"

"We have to." Cap insists. "And we're going to find the rest of the team. It shouldn't be too hard to track down a big green fella and Tony Stark, SHIELD can do it. Can you reach Thor, Ms. Foster?"

Rhodey, standing by the window, stares out over the decimated backyard. He's all tense lines and irritation, bristling with anger, narrowed eyes glaring at the glass. Tony never ignores his calls. When he doesn't want to talk, he'll answer and make up some bullshit excuse to hang up, or he'll text a dismissive reply. He never ignores the phone. Never.

"I'm afraid not," Jane replies to Steve with a heavy sigh. Rhodey's not sure when she showed up. He doesn't really care. He's got one concern right now. "I don't know of any way to send messages across the worlds."

"What about archer boy?" The one they call Banshee, or Sean, speaks up. He sounds exhausted. To be honest, Rhodey's not sure how any of the mutants are still awake after the treatment they suffered. "He still around?"

Natasha answers, her tone low and final. "He's around."

\------------------------------

There is an arrow.

It sits upon a shelf, in a room, in the Avengers Mansion. The room is hardly used, the shelf rarely touched. It is not a nicely decorated place, not a room that sees much traffic. The way it looks, with belongings and clothes haphazardly strewn about, it appears to be a dumping place, not a living space.

The arrow has a special seat upon this shelf, the one level area that isn't covered in dust, and it keeps this place of honor in every room, every backwoods motel, every SHIELD bunk that Clint Barton has ever been assigned. Lots of objects have come and gone, things discarded and forgotten, but never this.

It's not a trophy from a mission, or a reminder of a certain success in the field. It's never seen battle. No, the arrow is completely sentimental, being that it was the first arrow Phil Coulson ever gave him.

It was just for a mission, sure, part of a briefing, but no one had ever given him arrows for a mission before, never allowed him to use his best weapon despite his insistence he was good with it. In fact, Coulson was the reason he could use the bow in the first place.

Clint's staring at the arrow. Or, maybe he's dreaming it. He's either drunk or sleeping, but he can't really tell. Either way he sees the arrow and his wavering mind lingers on it, centers upon it...

The arrow flies, hits its mark right on the head. The target is a paper outline of a man, which the arrow tears into as it passes through, leaving a star like mark. He never misses. Each time he feels the pull of the bowstring, the stretch of his muscles, and lets it fly, it always hits its mark.

Keen ears catch the sound of even footsteps upon the floor; he knows the person's height and weight by that sound, someone relatively average sized and unassuming. Clint turns, and he's right. The newcomer is a short, balding man who seems to be approaching middle age. He's wearing a suit and a blank expression, and Clint tenses at the sight.

"Agent Barton?"

Doing his best impression of not caring, Clint turns back to the shooting range. "Yeah? What's it to you?"

Another arrow lets fly. By the time he's stringing a second, the pest is standing next to him.

"I am Agent Phil Coulson, your new handler." Clint snorts when the man raises his hand for a handshake.

"What is this, four in a month?" Smirking, he ignores the raised hand and pulls the arrow into place. "New record for me." Releases it, watches it soar. Powerful, unhindered. Free.

When he turns, Agent Stiff is still there, hands lowered and clasped in front of him. The man's eyes are narrowed. "You have not been assigned to any missions." He checks his watch. "It is 4:24 in the morning, why are you awake?"

"Because I had bad dreams, mommy." Clint makes a pouty face, strings the bow again. What a moron. What's this guy think he's going to say? That he's gonna let out his heart to some stranger because SHIELD says he's supposed to trust the person they assign to him? As if anybody forcibly saddled with Clint Barton is going to actually care about his well being after the first ten minutes talking to him.

To his surprise, the Agent does not shoot back at him with recited protocols and standards about respect. He's quiet. Clint ignores him, setting up the shot. The routine of it, the physicality, creates a peace that settles deep into his bones. It'll give him the strength to keep going tomorrow in a way no amount of sleep could.

"This is your standard weapon?" The Agent asks. Clint turns, grunts, looks over the Agent. He actually appears vaguely interested, by the way he's staring down at the target.

"Course not." Clint snorts. He starts putting the bow away. Not like he's going to get much more out of this with his nanny hovering nearby. "SHIELD doesn't allow non-standard weapons as... 'unique' as mine."

"Hmm." The Agent's still staring at the target, and it's a little weird. Clint stares at him with an eyebrow cocked, before shaking his head and turning back to his work. He's got his stuff packed up in a minute, and stands to leave quick as he can.

"Barton." He hesitates at the name. Much as he hates having SHIELD forcing a caretaker on him, he's not actually a total asshole. Guy's just doing his job.

"Yeah?"

"You have a new assignment. Meet me on deck four of the garage tomorrow at 6 p.m."

He nods, about to go, but then... "At night?" Turning slightly, he sees the Agent nod. "Why wait so long? What's going on?"

"The mission is not time sensitive, so you will return to your quarters and sleep as much as you can before then." The Agent hardens his voice. "Consider that an order."

A little surprised, Clint shrugs. "All right. Sir, yes, sir." He jokes, giving a false salute, then turning and running off before the guy can finally lose his patience.

When Clint does meet up with him that evening, the Agent stops him right at the door of the vehicle. In his hand is a piece of paper, a waver of some kind, and when the Agent hands it over Clint sees it's signed by Fury.

"I've received permission on your behalf to assign you your specialized bow as your primary weapon in the field. You'll need to return to your quarters and retrieve it before I debrief you."

Clint got maybe half of that sentence. He's still staring at the paper he's been trying to get for the last year and a half with no success. He's not even been able to get high enough up on the ladder to talk to Hill, but this guy goes straight for Fury and gets a yes?

Who is this guy?

Elation floods Clint as he turns to run back to his room, but halfway to the door he pauses, and turns around.

"Hey!" He shouts. The Agent hears him and turns around. "What's your name again?"

"Call me Agent Coulson." He says dryly, and Clint gives a grin and a nod as he starts running again.

"Sure thing, Phil."

He surfaces from the memory like rising from a dream, the best kind of dream - then reality strikes him, the putrid stench of split alcohol burning his nostrils, and the agony of it just knocks him on his ass, like he just lost Coulson all over because the dream was just a memory, and the reality is Phil Coulson is gone -

No. No, he refuses to believe that, refuses to accept that it will end this way, that this is how it was meant to be, because while he doesn't believe in God or fate or destiny, there's still no denying that if there is even a scrap of decency in this goddamn fucked up universe, then Phil Coulson would receive a better end than to be used and controlled and made to hurt the people he loves.

Clint knows what it is to be where Coulson is now. He knows that, inside, the man is screaming, desperate to get out, to stop it, to break free but he can't, there's too much holding him down. No matter how Clint struggled, he couldn't break through, not without help.

It took Natasha's intervention to save Clint. Somehow, someway, Clint's going to find a way to do the same for Coulson.

\---------------------------

"First things first," Rhodes starts as he turns around. "We've got to find Tony and the others."

"At least Tony and Bruce," Natasha agrees. "As long as he's in Asgard, Thor is on his own."

Steve, still pacing in the center of the room, sighs. "You're right. I'll contact SHIELD tonight, update Fury, and first thing in the morning we'll start looking for both of them. Shouldn't be too hard." The 'I hope' goes unsaid. "Oh, and we need to make sure to keep checking up on our patient."

"Patient?" Beast speaks up for the first time, his voice a rough, exhausted growl.

"We managed to save someone from a Division X facility." The Captain, in full on inspirational leader mode, approaches Beast. "You're a licensed doctor, aren't you? Could you take a look at him?"

The gruff exterior fades a little bit at that, and Beast gives a quick nod. "Show me the way to the infirmary, I'll take it from there." Steve nods, then turns to the group.

"Turn in for the night, guys. We'll start fresh in the morning."

Natasha watches him go with Beast, lingering as the others leave. Something about all of this is just so off. Her instincts rarely fail her, and right now they're telling her that they are playing right into somebody's hands. Whose, exactly, she doesn't know, but all that matters is they don't mean the Avengers any good. It can't be a coincidence that half the team, mostly the invulnerable god-like half, vanished overnight.

Feeling more on alert than ever, Natasha elects to skip sleeping. She starts a mission of her own.

\----------------------------

A little boy stands in a hallway.

He sees the light at the end of the hall, the door of his parent's room ajar. Through the crack, he can see the shadows of his mother and father dancing across the empty space. She cowers, her shade shrinking into one black lump, while his grows and grows, seeming to tower over them all. His bellowing voice rocks the house as his fists rise, and then her shrieks drown out the rest.

A little boy stands in a hallway, and he sees his father hurt his mother, and he can do nothing. When he is older, he will try, only to draw the attention of the man giving the blows, of his dear old dad. That's alright. Every hit that falls on him is one his mother won't have to take.

A little boy sees his life shrivel into a tunneling darkness, and in that pain and that emptiness a spark of unfathomable rage comes to life. It is repressed, held down, because getting angry would only make him strike harder, draw out more of his ire. But it is still there. As the years pass and mother and son suffer worse and worse at the hands of the monster meant to be called husband and father, that rage grows, and grows. It is held in check. It won't - can't - be held in forever.

Emotion is something to be controlled, to be held within, where others can't use it against you. This is what his father teaches him, what his treatment reinforces. Over the years, the suppression becomes so pervasive and so deep, the child struggles to feel when his father finally goes to far, and his mother pays the ultimate price.

The child becomes a man so out of touch with his own sense of self he is adrift in his own life, lost. Then the Accident happens - and suddenly all the pent up pain of years of torment and neglect explode outward into the world, and all the anger he never allowed himself to feel came pouring out. No more control, no more hiding. He becomes a "raw nerve", all his emotions blatantly expelled upon everyone.

But the disconnect, the distance didn't change. The Other Guy, the Other Self, felt all their emotions for them. But him, the child-turned-man, still felt nothing. Distanced himself from feeling, repressed feeling, taught himself not to feel, to consider feelings weak. Feelings hurt, and made him lose control and hurt other people. Made him like his father, uncontrollable and lashing out at others.

Yet, it was that distance which left the Other with nowhere to turn, nothing to latch onto in a sea of oblivion. With no knowledge, no point of references, Other was left to fend for itself, all emotion and no logic. The child-turn-man had all the logic and the brains, and felt nothing. Subsumed what he did feel in back breaking work, in running and hiding, and never allowed himself to consider opening up in an emotional way ever again.

Too dangerous. Too risky. But it was always too dangerous and too risky, even before the Other - feelings got you hurt. Feelings made other people angry, made them hurt you. He was tired of being hurt.

Now... now, he has found a place where the people don't hurt him. Where he belongs, where he has friends who don't fear him, who don't try to force him to change, to "come out of his shell". He likes these people. He likes what is life is now. But if it is to continue, he and the Other cannot go on as they are. It is too dangerous. Tonight being just one example of their divided mind creating confusion and complications.

So, the man reaches into his mind, reaches to the Other, to the emotions he's denied for so long. After decades of ignoring half his self, of refusing to allow himself to live fully as a complete human being, Bruce Banner embraces all of himself: the ugliness, the beauty, the love and the hatred. He becomes whole again, and when he does, Bruce and Hulk awaken as a new person: both separate, yet the same. Two different people, irrevocably intertwined.

Bruce opens his eyes, and they flare bright gamma green. For a few minutes, all he does is wheeze, chest rising hard, staring in awe out over the snow. "Damn," He whispers, a hand rising to touch his chest as if he can't believe what he's feeling. The next words are a little hysterical, but only just. "Damn!"

For a few minutes, he rests, taking in this huge shift in his mind, but after that he stands. In the quickest transformation he's ever done, Bruce goes from being little and 'puny' to the Hulk in no time, and immediately takes for the air, heading South.

\---------------------

Steve and Beast don't talk at all on the way to the infirmary, which is just find. Steve's too tired for words. He's got official business to finish, but as soon as he's done, he's crashing on the nearest couch and/or flat-like surface. Anything will do at this point.

Half-asleep already, he turns into the infirmary, stepping aside to allow Beast into the room - and suddenly the man yowls, like a cat in pain, eyes wide in shock. Steve jumps, expecting to be under attack, but Beast doesn't go on the offensive. He falls to his knees, hands trembling, and it almost looks as if his fierce eyes glisten with tears. Steve follows his line of sight to the patient sleeping in the bed.

Beast manages one word in his stupor.

"Darwin!"


	25. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions are made with some, but Tony is not one of them. He can't go back home - not yet.

Tony Stark walks up to the counter of a McDonalds in a backwoods town in the middle of nowhere, and orders two burgers, a McFlurry, and three fries, and no one takes notice.

It's a little jarring, being so... invisible. The guy half-asleep behind the counter barely looks at him twice, and the other patrons of the place pass by him without a thought. Eyebrow cocked, Tony takes his order to the back table where Strange is already sitting, just as invisible as Tony despite the eclectic outfit.

When Tony takes a seat across from him, Strange looks smug. Of course. "Magic can have its uses, can't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's skip the selling spiel." Grunting, Tony digs into his lunch with a fervor, having neglected to eat in the past fourteen hours given all the... drama going on. He's halfway through a burger before Strange says a word.

"Very well then." He begins. "To business. Our priority must be finding the source of this disturbance and stopping it before anything untoward happens. To that end, we should reunite with your team -"

Sputters of indignant disapproval come from Tony in-between bites. "Absolutely not."

"Tony -" Frowning, Strange tries to speak and Tony holds up his hands.

"Nuh huh, no way, nope." Swallowing the last bite, Tony starts speaking. "That bridge is burned, and I'm not up to mending fences right now."

"You're mixing metaphors."

"I'm drunk, starving, and haven't slept, don't judge me." The inventor's trembling fingers run over his forehead as he leans forward with a sigh. "I - I just - can't. I can't. Take me back there now, I - "

"Alright." Strange speaks with a gentle, hesitant tone. "While it might be easier to mend this with your friends, it is not outside the realm of possibility for us to handle this alone." All the tension melts from Tony's frame and he slumps towards the table. "But it will be dangerous."

"That's practically my middle name." Tony lets out a half smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Strange sends a supportive smile back that twists Tony's insides. He doesn't know this guy, this stranger, a weirdo dressed in a cape who kept him from killing himself. Here they are, a billionaire in a metal suit and a magician in a blue cloak eating burgers in McDonalds and no one cares. It's so fucking ridiculous that this is his life, he almost wants to laugh. He really wants to cry.

"Tony..." Strange gives a quiet huff, and Tony does chuckle at the thought that they've known each other all of an hour and he's already annoyed the guy. "We are very much outnumbered. Our only hope is that we have the element of surprise."

"Maybe." Tony finishes off one bag of fries, shrugs. "They probably think I'm dead, or they will once they find out about the incident at the house." Flashes of it return to him and threaten to bring his meal back up his throat. Forcefully he pushes it all back to the darkness of his mind.

"Do you plan to go back to them?" Strange asks suddenly. "They may in fact believe you are dead, or in danger. They're probably looking for you now."

Tony lets his gaze fall, ignores the way his throat clenches. "Good. It'll keep them out of the way until this is all over."

"You are trying to protect them."

"Or maybe I work better without them."

"If that were true, you would not have agreed to work with them to start with." Leaning forward, Strange places his hands on the table. "You are many things, Tony, but you do not do anything unless you want to, or you believe it will benefit yourself or those you care about. You would not have joined the Avengers out of charity."

Tony almost snorts and makes a quip about doctors and therapy, when he has a sudden vivid memory of a certain doctor and his own methods of therapy, their long conversations in the dark. Bruce's smile under starlight, shy and faltering, but ever present in Tony's company. The memory explodes like a bomb in his chest, destroying him from the inside out. He says nothing.

The quiet continues until Tony finishes his meal and shoves the trash inside the bag. Strange sighs. "Well, I suppose we'll deal with your team when it becomes pertinent." Standing, he gestures to the door. Tony struggles to follow but he feels weighed down, heavy, and it's not the suit doing it. Suddenly it's as if gravity has increased tenfold and it's an effort just to breathe. He sees green eyes - green eyes flared with hurt, betrayal, anger. Tony touches his chest to see if the arc reactor is still there because it feels like he's having a heart attack.

"Tony," Strange is at his side in an instant. "Tony!" A hand touches his head - then darkness.

\-----------------

Three mouths fall open as one, staring in stunned silence at the man currently struggling to sit up in bed. No one says a word. Steve is turning from one side of the room to the other, trying to gauge the situation, but he's clearly as stunned as the others. Natasha keeps her hand near her gun, in case this is the kind of reunion which does not end pretty.

But then Havoc bursts into joyous laughter and runs to the man's bedside, and the patient laughs in return. The tension in the room evaporates and Natasha lets out a silent sigh of relief. Soon most of the people in the room are arranged around the man's bed, boisterous talk bouncing off the walls, cheerful and relieved.

"What's going on?" Steve interjects after a few minutes, hesitantly. He clearly doesn't want to intrude, but they need to know what's happening. How do Xavier's people know this former captive of Division X?

No on seems to hear Steve, too caught up in the reunion to notice. Natasha sees he's about to speak again, and steps up to him, putting a hand on his arm. Yes, they need answers, but they might just get them by remaining silent and hovering in the room. Steve looks to her, appears to be ready to object, but after receiving a stern look he sighs and nods his head.

"How in the world are you alive?" Beast finally lets out, and Natasha turns her attention to him.

"'Adapt to survive', remember?" The man they called 'Darwin' laughs as he replies, out of breath but clearly happy. "I'm not sure how I did it, but I came back. Woke up in a lab."

"Lab?" Havoc, who until that moment had been grinning ear to ear, grows tense. "What are you talking about? Where?"

"Moira." Darwin replies. "I don't know what happened to her, but she went around the bend. Started rounding up mutants to experiment and test on. I was one of the first."

"Wait..." Banshee, standing in the corner, has a looking of dawning horror on his face. "Then you've been trapped in some mad scientist's secret lair for forty years?" The grim realization hits them all as one, and with similar looks of terror on their faces the three turn to their friend. His heavy silence is confirmation enough.

Suddenly Havoc lashes out against the wall, fist slamming into the brick with a resounding impact. "God dammit!" Natasha watches with keen eyes, knowing very well what must be running through his mind. It was what ran through hers when she learned about Coulson - why did I not search for him? Why did I give up on him? Why did I assume he was dead? These are heavy things that only time can carry away, and for now all Havoc can do is stand strong under the weight of them.

"Then you were a member of Xavier's team in the 1960's." Natasha finally cuts in. Darwin turns his gaze to her, eyes narrowing.

"Do I know you?"

"This is Natasha Romanov, and I'm Steve Rogers." Steve steps forward, reaching out with his open hand. "We're members of the team that rescued you from the Division X facility." He waits for the other man to lift his hand, and waits in vain. Darwin stares with his mouth dropped open, clearly in shock. Finally, he manages to turn and look at his friends.

"Why is Captain America in my hospital room?" Darwin whispers.

\---------------------

Jane Foster stands outside Thor's room with clouded eyes and a furrowed gaze.

He still hasn't returned, hours after his disappearance. No word, no sign, nothing. His room is intact, one of the few untouched by the destruction, but Jane feels afraid to enter in. She hasn't been inside his room as of yet. It seems... too personal. One of the barriers they've yet to cross.

And will they?

Sighing, Jane turns and leans back against the wall, letting her eyes lower. She's still unable to shake the lingering bitter feeling from her 'date' hours before, something she's sure is simply childish on her part yet she can't help it. It was not a night she enjoyed, and the double dose of unhappiness and disappointment, on top of all the dark events of the evening have her heart plummeting into an abyss.

She thinks of earlier, watching Steve in the main room of the mansion, handing out orders and making plans, in awe of his commanding disposition. Jane doesn't think she could be so even tempered in such a situation - house destroyed, friends missing and perhaps hurt, loved one having vanished right in front of him. She would be a complete mess, no doubt, yet here is Steve, soldiering on. One of the many reasons she admires the man.

But could she love him?

Jane's had so little experience with love, but for a few boyfriends and girlfriends in college and grad school who came and went almost as often as semester classes. Nothing lasting, nothing deep, a few dates and lovers from time to time to satisfy those more personal urges. Thor was different. Thor came down from the sky like a literal stroke of lightning and flipped her life around. She thought she'd found 'the one' in him. But now 'the one' wants another 'one'.

With a desperate sigh, Jane curls in on herself, clutching her arms over her chest, and wishing desperately she had someone to talk to. Immediately the thought of Darcy comes to her mind, and she feels a pang of sorrow at her absence - a sorrow which runs deeper than she realizes.

\-----------------

The door to his room opens, and Xavier knows by the absence of any sense of his mind that the person behind him is none other than Erik Lensherr. Only Erik and his infernal helmet could create this vibrating emptiness in the world around him. Only Erik could make Charles this nervous.

Charles sits facing the window, looking out over a dark forest somewhere in the North-Western United States, he imagines, trying very hard not to fidget. He's at a loss for words - at a loss for anything, really - because this is something he'd always dreamed of but never allowed himself to think was possible.

But now it's not just possible, it is happening. Charles remains frozen, heart hammering, mouth partially open and desperate for something to say, something that will start them off on the right foot now that they've reunited for the first time in forty years and Charles wants nothing less than to drive him away, not again.

Then, laying on that beach, still reeling with the emptiness that Shaw's death had left him with, Charles had all but shoved Erik away. In an effort to distance himself from any who knew him, to withdraw from the agony that was living after having died, Charles did not put any effort into peacekeeping then, into talking Erik down. So the man left without a backwards glance, abandoning Charles as he bled on the sand, still surrounded by ships manned by men with malevolent intent.

This could not be a second lost chance, another conversation which only lead to more distance. He can't do this again. No more long, empty nights, feeling the shadow of the past laying heavy upon his body as the chill of night steals the warmth from his blood; no more long, empty days of fake smiles and pretend cheer, guiding children and adults to better themselves as he feels his own self fading away more with every hour. He cannot live a false, half life again, always looking over his shoulder for the person who is missing, for the one who isn't there. Not again.

But now here is his chance to fix it, to change it all, to perhaps have a second chance with those he tossed away - with Erik and Raven. If only he could make them see, make them understand how sorry he is, how foolish and naive he was, that he knows now he made mistakes and said the wrong things and he was an arrogant child but he has paid for his crimes, has he not? Has he not paid enough?

"Charles."

In all his panic, he never noticed that man moving closer, but now he sees him standing only a foot away. Within reach. Charles pointedly does not look up, only stares at those long legs in black trousers, the hand reaching out to rest upon the back of his chair, touching it with a simple ease that reveals so much with so little. Charles had wondered what Erik might think. Disgust? Despair? Charles neither wants nor tolerates either of those. He is who he is, he is a man with a disability and he will not be pitied. But he should have known Erik would never pity him.

Perhaps unconsciously, Charles began to reach out for Erik. By the time he realized his hand was halfway to the other's, but by then he could not stop. The years had changed them both, taking the color and smoothness of their skin, accenting their aging bones. He touches that hand and in that moment it all becomes real, the physicality of touch grounding the moment for him.

"What happened, Charles?" That voice, made huskier and lower by the passage of time and yet still so clearly Erik, sends shivers through Charles. "You were always so eloquent."

"I've lost much over the years." He finds himself saying. "I'm not the man I once was."

Another hand covers his own, clasping his between Erik's. "Neither am I, old friend." Finally Charles can no longer fight the gravity which has been pulling them towards one another since Erik entered the room. He looks up, and sets eyes upon the face of his beloved for the first time in forty years.

\------------------------

In the morning, Clint comes out of his room to find Steve in the kitchen. The captain seems surprised to see him. Managing a weak smile, Clint forces himself into his usual routine - coffee, breakfast, banter. Months of practice allow him to pretend to be normal, though inside he is shattered. His resolution to save Coulson, no matter the cost, gives him the strength to go through with it.

"I'll be honest," Steve starts hesitantly. "I didn't expect to see you so... soon."

Clint pulls out the cereal and sits across from Steve at the counter. "We've got teammates in trouble, right?" He shrugs. "Gotta get to work."

Natasha enters the kitchen, leaning in from the doorway. "We're meeting in Darwin's room in fifteen." She states, and Steve gives a nod. The woman's eyes flicker to Clint for jus an instant before she turns and walks away. Clint tries to ignore her. The more he's around her, the more his mask will splinter. He could never keep anything from Tasha.

They eat breakfast in dreadful silence, the weight of the night before darkening the mood. Clint can see that Steve feels guilty, it practically radiates off him, but the archer is in no place himself to try and comfort him. Inside, he feels splintered and decimated, ripped apart at the seams, and the wound in his chest still aches. The sight of Coulson, eyes cold and distant, stabbing him with so little care will not be a thing he forgets for a long time. In a way, it gives him strength. He has to free Phil from this monstrous situation before he does something the agent won't be able to move past. Clint knows a little about being unable to forgive oneself.

After their meal, Clint follows Steve to the med ward, where Darwin is still in bed but sitting up, looking a little stronger. Natasha is at the end of his bed, standing as a sentinel with her arms crossed and shoulders back. The other mutants are gathered around Darwin, with Banshee by the window, Beast looking over the medical chart at his bedside, and Havoc sitting upon Darwin's bed. Clint spies their hands, intertwined upon the sheets.

"Feeling any better?"

"Loads." Darwin smiles at the question, his voice stronger than the night before. "It's good to be away from that place, even if I have gone from one white-walled room to another."

"This one is a temporary situation." Beast assures him. "We'll get you to Xavier's mansion once this is all over."

"When's that gonna be, though?" Banshee, leaning against the wall by the window, speaks up with a nervous voice. He's crossing his arms and fidgeting, acting more like a child than a man some fifty years old. "The professor's gone. Moira's got that agent guy hopped up on God juice and under her control." Clint can't help but flinch at the mention of him, but the distance he's put between himself and the group means no one - save Tasha, of course - notices. "Who knows what she's going to do now."

"Actually," Steve speaks then, turning to Darwin. "We were hoping you might know. You were in her base for years, do you have any idea what her end game is?"

"The extermination - or domination - of all mutants." Darwin spits out. "She's sure that all mutants are a threat that have to be put down or put on a leash."

"Fits what we know about her." Natasha says. "But what does that have to do with Coulson?"

"I don't know this 'Coulson'," Darwin shrugs. "Moira experimented on a lot of people over the years, and I'm the only one whose survived this long. She's constantly going after new subjects as the old ones... succumb." Havoc's grip on Darwin's hand tightens, and the taller man glances towards him.

"What kind of experiments?" Steve asks.

"Probably ways to subdue us, control us, kill us... some of which we've already seen at work." Beast states. "The drug that was used on us, for one, and the suppressors Moira used on the Professor."

"Yeah, she looked for all that, and more." Darwin agrees. "But that wasn't what she was really after. Her 'end game' was an equivalent force to stand against the mutants - something strong enough to stand up to us."

"Like a super soldier?"

"Sort've." Darwin, grimacing, adjusts his place on the bed. As soon as he begins pushing against the pillows, Havoc moves to help him. Watching them, Clint couldn't help the sense of helplessness rising in him. These two, clearly important to one another, separated for decades by a monster of a woman. The world is such a merciless place. Frowning, he turns from them. "For a while she was trying to create her own mutants, someone she could control whose power was equal or better than ours. That didn't work too well."

"Hard to replicate our genes in a lab, hmm?" Beast chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous, and Clint imagines it is.

"She went after other people and ideas, but I don't know much about them." Darwin, sighing, sinks back into the bed. "All I know is, they never really worked. Until recently, things changed. She stopped experimenting on us, got rid of a lot of us, put others to sleep."

"She found what she was looking for." Natasha offers, frowning. "First she tried mutants, and failed to replicate them. Then the Hulk and the same failure. But then she turned to Asgard."

"I'm lost. What's this have to do with Thor?" Clint, speaking up for the first time, turns to Natasha. "We were talking about mutants a second ago."

"It's not Thor I mean - it's what he is, what he controls since he is from Asgard." Turning to Clint, Natasha speaks firmly. "It's magic. She's managed to find a way to control a powerful magical being that might be on par with Thor or Loki."

"Someone strong enough to fight mutants, for certain." Steve frowns.

"That doesn't make sense, though." Clint insists, stepping further into the room. "If she really hates mutants enough that she wants to get rid of all of them, having one magical guy on her side doesn't seem like enough to me."

"No," Natasha, lowering her gaze, shakes her head. "It wouldn't be."

The room is silent as Clint glances from person to person. "Well?" He asks. "What would be enough?"

\-------------------

An hour after lunch finds Tony and Strange in the magician's mansion, looking over the magical equivalent of what Tony imagines is a computer database. It's about to drive him to murderous intent. Standing behind Strange, allowing him to work, Tony taps his foot and crosses his arms, eyes darting every so often to glare daggers at the magical, translucent film floating in the air, off of which Strange is reading some form of information in a language Tony's never seen.

"Spellwork is volatile," Strange begins, his hands moving across the screens, accessing data. "It requires a great deal of power to control, along with many innate, natural factors which engender in a person the temperament and ability to wield magic's power. Even then, it still takes time and energy to master. Magic is no easy feat."

Rolling his eyes, Tony finally just turns his back towards the sinfully illogically magic floating curtain-computers. "So? What's the point?"

"My point is, if an ordinary human wanted to us magic or cast a spell, they would have to employ someone else to do it." Strange speaks energetically, clearly coming to some sort of conclusion as he scans his database. "But there are few on Earth who can manage such feats, and fewer still are for hire. What these magicians would want in payment, no typical mortal could possess."

"Assuming that's McTaggert's game," Tony starts. "Assuming that what she wants is to cast some spell, and she's found the means to do it somehow. What kind of spell would be worth all that trouble?" Tony can't imagine any of the traditionally selfish motivations would be applicable to McTaggert.

"We don't have to assume she's found a way - she has found one." A hand touches Tony's shoulder, pulling him back into the room even as Tony huffs in annoyance. "Your friend Phil Coulson."

"Uh, okay, you lost me." Tony turns to raise an eyebrow at the man. "Short, balding guy? Government agent with no sense of humor? Terrifying with a bag of flour? How's he -" Then it hits him. "He didn't come back human, did he?"

"No," Strange murmurs, voice heavy and dark. "He did not. However he returned to this world, he is no longer mortal, and whether he knows it or not he can now wield magic."

"But he's on our side, he's a good guy, McTaggert's never gonna get her claws into him." Tony insists this vehemently because he knows Coulson is loyal to the moon and back, he'd die for them, already had died for them! But then he sees the way Strange lowers his eyes and glances away and his heart skips a beat. "What happened?"

"The... staff that Thor's brother possessed." Strange starts nervously. "Division X took the first chance they could to obtain it. Given the nature of the staff, and the way in which Phil Coulson died... it is not so far a stretch to believe they are now connected, and McTaggert could have taken control of him at any time."

"Could have... you mean she already has?" Tony feels fire erupt in his gut, exploding outward through his whole body in a visibly display of violence, screaming and cursing and throwing limbs around. When he's done with his tantrum he stalks over to Strange, no longer concerned with the ridiculousness of magic. "Where is he?"

"Where I believe our disturbance lies." Pointing to the map now on the screen, Strange states the place. "New York City."


	26. Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Dr. Strange take some desperate measures to try and save the world.

Half past midnight, Pepper finds Natasha on the roof of the building. She walks up tentatively, nervously, unsure if her presence is welcomed or desired. She knows Natasha knows she's there, so when the spy says nothing, Pepper takes it as an invitation.

"Is it safe to be up here?" She asks. Her arms are wrapped tight around her, blocking the chill, but she still feels frozen. There is a cloud hanging over all of them colder than any wind.

Natasha is looking out over the city, one leg pulled up to her chest, red hair wavering in the wind. In the dim light she looks like something from myth, a creature of darkness, a sentinel overlooking the mortal world. It's in moments like these that Pepper truly feels the wide gap between them: Natasha Romanov, soldier and spy, and Pepper Potts, just your ordinary businesswoman.

"The roof is stable enough, for now." Tasha drawls, still staring out over the shadowy city. Their mansion is on private ground, with an expanse of trees and grass separating them from the city outside, but its bright lights can still be seen. "How are the others?"

"Plugging away," Pepper answers as she takes a seat beside her lover. "Steve and Clint are getting all the SHIELD and medical files together, Beast is collecting the equipment. We ought to be ready to go in an hour or two." Natasha nods, eyes slightly lowered, and Pepper looks over her while gnawing at her lip. "Are you okay?"

At that, Natasha glances up, eyes slightly brighter than before. There's a smirk on her lips. "I should be asking you that. I'm prepared for these things; you're a civilian."

Shrugging, Pepper lets her gaze fall. "Of course I'm worried. I'm frantic with it. But I know that assuming the worst won't help. Tony disappears sometimes, because he needs to, not because he's been hurt or taken away... until there's proof he's in real danger, I'm holding onto that."

"I think you're right." Natasha replies. Glancing up, Pepper sees she's turned her head back to the city. "The circumstances don't look good, but Stark has a way of landing on his feet. He'll come back to us when he's ready."

Knowing that Natasha agrees with her gives Pepper a little boost of courage and hope. "You never did answer my question."

Tasha sighs; half-lidded eyes turn to her. "No. I'm not." The fact that she's saying so openly warms Pepper's heart, as much as it pains her to hear confirmation of that truth. She doesn't want Natasha to suffer but she's glad the woman can share it with her when she does.

But Pepper's not sure how far that openness will go, and she's afraid to push. "Do you... want to talk about it?"

Tasha stares over the city. In her eyes, Pepper sees lights reflect, and the effect is mesmerizing. "No." She finally says. "There's still a mission to complete."

Nodding, Pepper turns out to look over the city as well. She's not sure what Natasha is doing, what she's looking for, or if she's just trying to forget, for a while. There is so much about Natasha Romanov that Pepper doesn't know, so much she can't read in her face or her voice. Does she want Pepper to stay, or go? Would she rather be alone? Right now, Pepper would very much like company, even silent company out in the cold. If she's alone, she won't be able to stop thinking of all the things that could be happening to Tony right now, things she can't stop -

A hand reaches out and takes hold of hers, and Pepper jumps. She turns to see Natasha looking at her with eyes that are somewhat less distant than before. "Stay," Natasha says quietly, squeezing her hand. Pepper squeezes back.

\-----------------------

Moira McTaggert looks up to the sky with a sense of resignation.

This will be the moment for which she is remembered, the piece of history which will belong to her. It's not what she would have chosen. Forty years ago, she would've hoped for a future in which she showed those assholes in the bureau exactly how much a woman could do. Just to excel at her job and protect her country. Now, hers is the organization no one knows about, with a legacy no one will forgive.

They won't know the threat she eliminated, of course. That would simply invite chaos. Instead, across the world and all its nations, humankind will rise up in indignant fury at the woman who murdered millions seemingly for no purpose at all. Children, spouses and siblings, friends and lovers, all dead within the hour, with a show of power and devastation which will reinvent the world the way the atomic bomb did half a century ago.

This is the only course of action, history has shown her that. There is simply too much at stake, too much hanging in the balance, to allow these people to exist, these lions in sheep's skin pretending to be peaceful. No one else will see her reasoning. No one else has been involved with them like her. But Moira will take the actions no one else will, she will see it done, and suffer the wrath of the world after its end.

"How much longer?" She asks.

Behind her, Phil Coulson stands in the center of several glowing rings. Some are inscribed upon the ground, painted with a mixture of blood and ground organs; others float through the air like ethereal smoke. In Coulson's hands is a book, one which took her decades to find, a treatise upon dark magic older than civilization itself.

"It should not be long." Her thrall replies, eyes flaring a bright blue. In her hand Moira holds the staff which keeps him captive, though she's learned it does not keep him subservient. "Perhaps you should spend the time still left reconsidering your course of action." She can almost hear the disgust in his carefully even tone. "You might even consider using all this new power for a more productive, less genocidal purpose."

It is curious that her control over him is not complete. Perhaps it is a consequence of this particular method of control; whereas the others made captive by the staff had been influenced by it directly, her control over Phil Coulson is based upon a distant connection, a sort of resonance, which the magic of Coulson now has with the staff. It means his actions belong to her, but apparently not his mouth.

"Tools should not speak." She says, still looking out over the city. She doesn't bother turning to him; she looks up at the spiral appearing in the sky, an enormous whirlpool of purplish-blue.

"I may currently be your unwilling servant but I am still a man." His vehemence breaks through the monotone this time, and Moira almost smiles. "And as a man I am strongly against mass murder of any kind."

"Do you know many mutants, Mr. Coulson?" He's chanting the spell, so he can't reply just yet. She decides not to wait. "I spent many years of my life working for them, advocating for them, risking my career and sometimes my life for them. Yet, when the time came that I was no longer an asset I was tossed aside like so much garbage, my trust and my mind violated beyond repair."

His chanting done for the moment, her thrall speaks. "So, you're going to take out your revenge for the actions of one man upon an entire group of people?"

"This isn't revenge." She frowns at that, a slight upswing of irritation tickling her. "Nor is it a personal vendetta. This is about the fact that a single man gifted with a great power can live unremarked in our society, unmonitored and uncontrolled, accessing and altering the minds of those around him with no one's knowledge. This is about the fact that more and more such people are being born everyday. They may not be quite human, but human nature still applies." Finally, she turns, staring down Coulson. "Would you trust a teenager with the power to alter the world around them? To erase memories, control thoughts? To set fires with a flick of a hand or phase through walls?"

Coulson meets her eyes, gaze hard. "I wouldn't trust them - but I also wouldn't kill them."

"I thought that, too, a long time ago." For a moment she remembers that time with a sense of bitter, painful nostalgia. "You'll learn."

\---------------------------------

"Why is it always my tower?" Tony complains as he slips on a jacket, entering the room Strange is in. The Magician looks up at him.

"You are not taking your suit?"

"For one, it's been torn to shit by the Hulk, and two, Magneto." Tony shrugs as he zips up the front of the jacket. "Unless you've got a magic spell for that?"

"I'm afraid your mechanics are a little outside my comfort zone." Strange admits as he stands, pulling a bag of things beneath his long cloak, where it disappears into the ether. Convenient. "And Ms. McTaggert has chosen your tower precisely because Loki chose it before."

Watching Strange walk around the room preparing, Tony analyzes him with his eyes. This room is yet another treasure trove in Strange's seemingly endless mansion, which is much larger than should be possible and has at least twelve floors. There's an ornate arrangement of seemingly docile items that Tony would love to poke and mess around with - normally. Normally, he'd be a blustering whirlwind of questions and conversation, blithely demanding explanations for the impossible and unscientific. Today, he stands silent, a black hood pulled over his head, hands tucked into his pockets. Watches Strange walk around with narrowed eyes.

Tony's not quick to trust, not usually; only two people have ever been exemptions to that rule. First there was Yinsen, who in a few terrifying moments became Tony's one light in the darkness. Then there was Bruce, whom Tony decided to trust on principle, trying to repent for past mistakes by offering Bruce Banner a future.

Now there's this guy, whom Tony should have no reason to trust at all because a) total fucking stranger, b) believes magic is a thing that exists, and c) see reason b. But here Tony is, working with this stranger when not a few hours ago he was contemplating a cliff side.

He doesn't think he would've done it, not really. Then he remembers the look on the Hulk's face when Tony betrayed him and then he wants nothing more to just stop existing.

"It all comes back to all those months ago, and the invasion that wasn't." Strange is speaking again; Tony turns to him, half paying attention because he knows there's still shit to do. Half of him is just done, so done with it all. "The beginning of the Avengers was the beginning of our troubles."

"How so?"

"The magic Loki harnessed to open the gate between this planet and whatever distant galaxy his army came from was a greater feat than has ever been attempted upon this earth." At Tony's raised eyebrow, Strange smirks. "And it was magic, Tony. While the device used was certainly scientific, the origins of the Tesseract are not."

Okay, he'll give him that one. For now.

"For those of us who don't subscribe to The Daily Prophet, what's it mean to do magic in the same place twice?"

"It's not that." Strange, seemingly having finished gathering his belongings, straightens up and walks towards Tony and the doorway. "The location is not important, it's the energy. Loki's portal left behind huge amounts of - of residue, if you will, leftover magic. Every spell has overflow, but a spell that large leaves behind enough residue to cover an entire continent in magic."

It may not be science, but even magic works by rules, in a sense, and Tony's putting two and two together. "I'm guessing that's a lot of juice to leave hanging around."

They begin walking side by side through the mansion, with Strange leading the way. "That's not the worst of it," He starts again, eyes distant, the corner of his lip caught between his teeth. "The activation of a spell using that residue might have the effect of pulling upon the residue that was in the portal and on the other side of the galaxy - reopening the portal, in a sense. But because the portal cannot actually be reopened without the device, the magic being summoned would build upon the other side, until the pressure would force its way through, creating an explosion large enough to envelop most, if not all, of this planet."

"Shit!" His heart jolts in his chest at the memory of that day, that moment, falling forever through the coldest, darkest hell. "Why the fuck would she want to do that?"

"It's more likely McTaggert means to harness that power to use against mutant-kind, somehow." Arriving at the stairs, the two double-time it towards the first floor. "There are at least half a dozen spells that could kill, incapacitate, or reveal the mutants of the world. But she's not experienced enough in magic to realize that her spell might very well compromise the entire planet."

"Not like I didn't have enough reason to stop her in the first place," Tony starts with a smirk and a shrug. "But hey! Nothing like the end of the world to wake you up, huh?" Reaching out, the inventor puts a hand on the other man's shoulder, forcing him to halt as Tony does. "I did, uh... I had a thought." Strange waits silently, meeting Tony's gaze. "It's just... you're right. We don't have enough people. McTaggert's got resources we don't and the stakes are too high for us to fuck this up."

The magician's eyebrows raise. "Do you... that is, are you willing to contact the Avengers?"

"See this?" Stepping back, Tony waves a finger at his face. "This is my 'mention them one more time and I will stuff your magic wand up your a-hole' face."

Strange throws up his hands. "All right. Then who?"

Tony drops his arm, a strangely penitent look on his face. "How about the only other people who want Moira stopped as much as we do?"

For a minute, Strange just stares at him. There's a little incredulity in his expression, but mostly he seems impressed. Eventually he gives a slight nod and motions to the door. Giving a relieved sigh, Tony follows after Strange as he heads to the exit, and when they open the door, a bright light fills the hall. In the next instant, they're gone.

\--------------------

In the early hours of the morning, Steve and Rhodey lug the last of the team's luggage into the moving van, and shut the door.

The house is totalled - the damage will take months and millions of dollars to repair, and in the meanwhile the Avengers will need somewhere else to stay. Not that the Avengers are really much of a team anymore. Half the team has vanished, two of their number have been compromised by the loss of Phil Coulson (one of them very severely), and Steve? Steve doesn't feel like much of a leader right now.

He feels very much like he's back in those dirty alleyways, trying to use a trash can lid to defend himself from a bully, waiting for the tell-tale click of military dress shoes on stone, for Bucky to come to the rescue. Only, the bullies are bigger this time around, and Bucky's not coming.

Remembering his old friend sends a fresh wave of agony through Steve's chest, and he can't stop a sharp exhalation. What he wouldn't give for Bucky's unwavering support right now. Steve feels so lost. Thrown into this new century, made to lead this ragtag, volatile team, and now his incompetence has cost them.

He should've never agreed to that foolish date. So caught up in his own hang ups, in his personal drama, Steve put his own feelings before the team and the mission and his duty and now Tony, Bruce, and Thor are just gone. The fact that so many of their number have vanished as one cannot be a coincidence, and Steve is sure this is just the first wave of a very big assault heading their way.

Furious with himself, Steve slams the driver's side door of the truck shut before he buckles himself in. Rhodey, already in the passenger's seat, whistles. "Damn, Cap," He mutters quietly. "You okay?"

Steve remains quiet for a moment. No, he's really not okay, because he allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security by the peaceful humdrum of civilian life, forgetting all along that a war fought in the shadows is still a war. He allowed himself to become swallowed by his concerns about identity and sexuality and this strange, wonderful, terrible future, that he forgot that whoever he is, whatever he is, he is a soldier first. Now the people he cares about are paying the price.

"Hey, Steve?" Rhodey speaks again, in a soft, cajoling tone. "You sure you're up to driving?"

Sticking the key into the ignition, Steve nods. "I'll be fine." The two of them are taking the more sensitive equipment in the car to a SHIELD storage facility, then meeting up with the others at a hotel. From there, they'll have to decide what they can do, if anything, about their missing comrades. Steve is fuming about the fact that he allowed this to happen, that Bruce and Tony's trails have both gone cold because he was out on a date and didn't come home to find them missing until at least two hours had passed after their disappearance. In two hours, the Hulk and Iron Man could be anywhere.

Thor confuses him - and worries him - the most. But he refuses to think about Thor. There is nothing any of them can to do contact or reach Asgard, and thinking about Thor is what got Steve into this mess in the first place. So he purposefully shuts down all thought of the thunderer and focuses upon finding Tony and Bruce.

They drive in silence for the first twenty minutes. Steve stares out over the road, grip tight on the wheel, and every so often Rhodey turns to look at him with furtive eyes.

"What happened tonight?" The soldier finally said. "It wasn't your fault."

"I should've been there." Steve finds himself saying through clenched teeth.

"If you were there or not wouldn't have changed a thing." Rhodey starts insistently. "I don't know what exactly went down, but when Tony gets started, he's hard to stop. And when the Hulk gets started..." Giving a nervous laugh, Rhodey turns back to road.

Through the fog of anger over his head, Steve feels confusion floating in. "Wait. You think they really were fighting each other?"

"You mean you don't?" Rhodey chuckles, this time darkly. "I love Tony, but he can be a shithead when he wants to be. And given Banner's 'temperament', it was only a matter of time before Tony said the wrong thing. I'm just glad he got to his suit and we didn't find a mangled body."

Brow furrowed, Steve turns to look at Rhodey for a brief moment. "There's no way that's what happened." He turns back to the road but not before catching Rhodey's befuddled look. "Bruce would never do that."

"He kinda has done that."

"Not to Tony." The Captain says firmly. "I know you don't know Bruce as well as we do - and nobody knows him like Tony does - but they're... different around each other."

"You mean how Tony wants to bend Bruce over his lab table?"

"I really did not need that image." Steve manages a light chuckle. "But that's not it either. They just - uh..." Struggling for the words, Steve stops the truck at a red light then turns to face Rhodey. "When they met, it was like they already knew each other. They clicked right away. When the two of them are together, they don't seem to remember anyone else is around, it's just them, and they are always together - they're like the Weasley twins, you never see one without the other."

"Nice pop culture reference." Rhodey smiles.

"Thank you," Steve can't help but grin a little. The light turns green, and he lets off the brake. "Nothing will ever convince me those two really were fighting each other. Something else was going on tonight."

"You're sure?" Rhodey sounds skeptical, but Steve nods.

"I'd stake my life on it." He replies. "Tony and I may not get on well, but even I can see how much Bruce means to him."

They ride in quiet again for a minute or two, with only the grind of gears and the rhythm of the motor breaking the silence.

"He doesn't really hate you, you know." As they're turning into the lot for the storage space, Rhodey restarts the conversation. "Tony, I mean. You just remind him of a lot of uncomfortable things he doesn't like thinking about."

Wide eyed, Steve mutters, "Well that wasn't cryptic at all," as he parks the car and steps out.

\---------------------

At the sound of the doorbell, Wanda Maximoff sits up and takes notice. Beside her, Toad jumps, landing feet first upon the couch which a moment ago he'd been slouched across. "Somebody's at the door! Wait, we have a doorbell?"

"Did someone order pizza?" Avalanche, poking his head in from the kitchen, asks. Then, much louder, he calls, "HEY, BLOB! DID YOU ORDER PIZZA?"

"JUST 'CAUSE SOMEBODY ORDERED FOOD DOESN'T MEAN IT'S ME!"

"I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT MAN I'M JUST ASKING!"

"WELL WHY'RE YA ASKING ME FIRST?"

"Can you please not do that?" Frowning, Wanda rubs at her ears as she stands. "Dad said not to let anyone have this address, which probably includes pizza delivery. It's not like you can't run to the store and get it."

"Well, I didn't order any pizza." Toad hops down from the couch and follows after Wanda. "Sit down, I got it."

Smiling, Wanda does so, painstakingly slowly. She gives a wince as she finally slumps back into the chair. "Thanks, Toad."

She watches Toad go and it's impossible not to think of their missing number, of the person who'd typically be first to the door. Her heart aches, and the pain she feels is amplified by the absent of one who could make her burden lighter just by being there. Then her worry turns to her dad, out there looking for Pietro, perhaps fighting for both their lives. The chance, however slight, that she might lose them hurts like a knife through the heart.

"Uhh, guys?" Toad leaps back into the room, terror plain on his face, sliding to a halt beside Wanda's chair. "We got a problem!" His voice rises into a shriek-like pitch, drawing both Avalanche and Blob into the room.

A moment later, two strangers walk into the living room, and when she recognizes one of them, Wanda's feels her breath catch in her throat.

The Avengers have found them.

\-----------------------

"Somehow I thought Magneto's base would be more 'sinister evil lair' and less 'college frat house'."

Four teenagers stare at Tony Stock with mixed expressions of shock and horror. He takes a moment to look over them all. There's a young woman, seated in a crummy old recliner that has seen better days, with dark brown hair cut short. Beside her is a boy whose mutant power, Tony assumes, is the ability to reach ungodly high pitches whilst screaming. Two more stand to their right: a tall, scrawny fellow with long brown hair, and an even taller, very wide fellow with short blonde hair.

No one says anything. All four stand stock still, mouths agape, seemingly horrified, while Tony stays where he is, looking around the dilapidated house. "I take it the boss man isn't at home?" He finally says. "Well, it would be really awesome if one of you could call him up and tell him we came for a visit. I'm sure he'd be very interested to know." Still with the staring. "Anytime now."

"Holy shit, it's Iron Man!" The guy jumping around the floor breaks the silence and shatters the seeming peace in the living room. Wanda moves to stand on wobbly legs, while both Avalanche and Blob put themselves between Tony, Strange, and their injured teammate. Toad, meanwhile, is still leaping in circles exercising his ability to be headache-inducing-ly loud. "It's the Avengers! Ahh! We're all gonna die!"

"I assume that guy is the brains of your operation." Tony says dryly.

"It would help very much if you wouldn't antagonize them." Strange's voice comes across his ear as somewhat irritated as well.

"This is as helpful as I get." Tony replies with a stiff smile.

"What do you want?"

Toad has finally stopped screaming, and Avalanche and Blob have moved aside enough to allow for Wanda to step forward slightly. She, Tony realizes, is the real brains, and the leader, of this group. Which makes sense given she must be Erik Lensherr's child, the girl that he rescued from that base in California. If she has even an ounce of her father's kind of power, she's a formidable young woman indeed.

"We come in peace." Tony starts, holding his hands up. "Didn't even bring my suit, not that it would have been useful or anything. And I'm the only Avenger here! This guy's my butler." He nods to Strange who manages to school his thinly-veiled irritation into a tight smile.

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"There is a situation in New York City." Strange cuts in, reaching out and placing a hand on Tony's shoulder in warning. Tony pouts. This is the only fun he gets to have tonight, playing verbal games with small children, and he doesn't even get to have that? "Moira McTaggert is implementing her end-game for mutants, and if she succeeds the consequences will be catastrophic."

"For mutants." Wanda insists, her narrowed eyes flicking from Strange to Tony and back. "Why should you care?"

"Well, for one, Moira McTaggert is out of her fucking gourd." Tony cuts in, pushing his way in front of Dr. Strange. "For another her little magic trick is actually going to make the entire planet go boom, so there's that. But even if it was just mutant-kind she was going to kill, I'd still stop her, because I'm an Avenger and that's kinda what we do. We stop monsters from killing people."

"My Dad recently made turning your life upside down his favorite hobby, so how do I know this isn't a trick?" Wanda crosses her arms, eyebrow lifted, a stern look in her eyes that Tony can help but smirk at. He likes this one.

"I'm pretty sure if you turn on the news they'll be talking about the big fucking hole in New York's sky." Gesturing to the TV, Tony steps past Wanda and the Blob, picking up the remote. Sure enough, it's on all the major channels, - big purple-blue sphere growing in size and shape above the New York City skyline. "See! There's your proof."

Wanda still looks skeptical, and Tony doesn't blame her, though he really does need to convince her if the whole saving-the-world thing is going to work. "Look, we are on a very limited schedule here. An hour, maybe two, it's game over. Can you just call your dad so I can try talking to him?"

Her discerning eyes keep looking him over, and it's slightly unnerving. There's something in her gaze that's strikingly cold, like her father, but there's less sharpness and bitterness about this young woman. She has her father's strength and fortitude but none of his hang-ups. "No."

Even her friends seem surprised at that. "Uh, Wanda?" Avalanche, throwing an arm towards the TV, starts. "That looks kinda real, in a really bad way."

"It's not that I don't believe you." She addresses Tony, who is feeling a little like a deflated balloon. An angry, frustrated balloon. "I do. But right now my dad is... occupied."

"Wanda, hello?" Toad, emphasizing his words by leaping into her line of sight, joins in. "What could possibly be more important than the apocalypse?"

"Saving my brother." She says firmly.

"Miss," The occupants of the room turn their attention to Strange, who steps forward towards Wanda. "I understand your concern for your family, but if Moira McTaggert succeeds, your brother's rescue will be redundant."

Nodding, Wanda glances back to Tony again. "I know. That's why we'll help you."

A chorus of surprise and disdain erupts from her compatriots, but through the chaos, she meets Tony's eyes. In that gaze Tony sees determination to rival his own, and for the first time that night, a sense of hope rises in him.

"Sounds good to me." He meets Strange's eyes over the crowd, and while the magician seems reluctant, he's not disagreeing. "Desperate times, desperate measures. I'll take the super-powered freshman and Gandalf." Clapping, he steps through the group and they part for him as he heads for the door. He catches a smirk on Strange's face as he passes the man by.

"You know eventually you will run out of fictional names and be forced to call me by my title."

"Not happening, Merlin."


	27. Finale: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's down to the wire, and the Avengers aren't doing so well.

"Was it Steve?"

Hanging up the phone, Natasha turns as Pepper walks into the room. It's a joint hotel room, with a door connecting the two spaces. In one room, Xavier's people are setting up for the night, and in the other Natasha and Pepper have settled in. Clint's in the corner of their room, sitting in a chair, legs pulled up onto the seat as he stares out the window.

"Yeah," Natasha's voice is tight when she speaks. She's really just tired - it's been a very long day for everyone. "Steve found Thor. They're on their way up." She keeps her tone even but Pepper's brow still furrows.

"Is something wrong?" She asks.

She hesitates to reply - the truth is, she's worried. About Tony, about Bruce, this whole situation they've been dragged into. None of the Avengers are particularly stable, but Tony does not have a history of healthy self-interest, and Bruce has been known to disappear. That wouldn't be good for the team and it sure as hell wouldn't be for Tony.

She wants to tell Pepper she's worried, wants to share that with the woman who is slowly making her understand what other people mean when they say 'soul mate' and 'other half'. But she doesn't know how to make her mouth say the words. She isn't sure how to reveal this frailty, this weakness, that she is human and she cares.

Natasha looks up and in that instant, the door leading from the hall into the other hotel room opens. Through the open door between their rooms, Natasha sees Steve storm through the room, heavy footsteps resonating like thunder claps. Rhodey comes in after not looking too pleased himself, and Thor follows him, much more subdued, and behind him is -

"What's wrong?" Clint's sitting up, but Natasha gestures madly at him.

"Stay here - watch Pepper." She insists, knowing that's a half-assed reason that might make him stay, but doubting it. Storming into the other room, she shuts the door behind her and removes her gun from her holster, taking aim.

"What the hell," Natasha starts, voice thick and as quiet as she can make it, "is he doing here?"

\-------------------

On the city street below what was once Stark Tower, six people step through a shimmery sphere of energy which appeared from nowhere and onto the asphalt.

"Now that's thinking with portals," Tony chuckles, adjusting his jacket.

"Dude, you play Portal?"

He's not sure which smelly teenage boy lobbed the question at him, so Tony just waves distractedly at them. "Course I do. Though I'm absolutely certain a portal created by technology would be less nausea inducing and more awesome than a magic portal." As he starts sauntering towards his tower, he mumbles under his breath. "Note to self: if I survive this, invent the Portal gun."

"Tony," A hand catches his shoulder and holds him back. "I realize planning is not always your first priority, but there are children involved here." Strange says. "We need a strategy."

"Strategy smadgedy!" The bow-legged teenager replies. "Let's just kick their asses!"

"I'm with Frogger on this one," Pointing at the teen, Tony retorts. "Go in, kick ass, save the day. Rinse and repeat."

Strange is frowning in a vaguely constipated way. "That's not -"

"I think he's right," Magneto's daughter is speaking, and Tony isn't sure that he'd ever be able to think of her as anything else but 'Magneto's daughter' even if he did remember her name. The resemblance is uncanny, and it's not just looks. Their bearing, demeanor, the slight edge in the voice and sharp eyes - it's like a mini-Magneto is standing right in front of him and it's terrifying. He half wants to run away and hide but Tony continues to remind himself that this mini-Magneto never made him betray Bru -

"Okay, fine, here's the plan."

\----------------

Moira turns at the sound of footsteps approaching. Some of her soldiers have come upon the roof, though she told them repeatedly not to, and she's about to correct them yet again -

"Ma'am," One of them starts. "There's a group of people approaching the tower, they appear to be ordinary civilians, but Tony Stark is with them."

At the name, her thrall's head snaps up. "Finish your work!" Moira shouts at him, storming past Coulson and her guard. "You are not to leave this tower until the spell is done. Tony Stark will not get far enough fast enough to be of concern." Once she is at the door leading into the tower, she gestures for her men to remain. "Watch him!" Then she's gone down the elevator, into the building.

\----------------

Loki, to his credit, doesn't flinch, barely even acknowledges the gun leveled at his head.

"I'd like to hear the answer to that, too." Steve's voice enters the conversation so quietly he's almost not heard - but there's a deceptive strength and anger behind his quiet tone. It draws everyone's attention and their eyes, all but Natasha's, who has not stopped glaring Loki down since he entered.

"Steve, I..." Hesitant, almost nervous, Thor steps forward. There is a look on his face that has an uncanny resemblance to a golden retriever's pout after being reprimanded.

"What were you thinking?" Still his voice is quiet, low. But he's fuming. Natasha just barely glances out of the corner of her eye, and she sees Steve's face set in a furious scowl the likes of which she's never seen. "He's not even shackled!"

"He can help us!" Thor cuts in, stepping closer. Steve doesn't step back, but he certainly doesn't look welcoming, and that seems to deter Thor from approaching his friend. Sighing, Thor drops his arms. "What is happening now has its source in magic, Steve. Asgardian magic."

"What makes you think he will help us?" Now Steve's moving, thrusting his upper body in Thor's face, shoulders stiff, fists clenched. "Did you tell you he would? Don't you think that maybe he lied?"

"Does anyone else feel like they're intruding?" Comes Banshee's voice from the back corner of the hotel room. "This is really awkward..." No one pays him any mind, though Beast does step forward and in front of the younger mutant.

"Is this Loki? The one behind what happened in New York?"

"The one and only." Natasha mutters. She flexes her fingers a little.

"Perhaps this was foolish of me." The dark haired man mutters, and in a futile and arrogant act of defiance lifts his head and looks down his nose at the woman pointing a gun at him. "I thought perhaps mortals were at least intelligent enough to realize the importance of prioritizing threats."

"Can I shoot him now?"

"Wait!" Thor's arms come up again, and this time he steps between Natasha and Loki. "Allow me to explain. He can be of use to us!"

"How?"

Turning to Steve, Thor lowers his arms. "Moira McTaggert is using the Son of Coul to perform magic; I cannot trace this spell. Magic was... never my greatest talent." He is interrupted by a snort from Loki.

"A bit of an understatement, brother."

A sharp look from the blonde silences Loki, for the moment. "My brother has the power to locate this spell, and to challenge it, whatever it may be. And I am certain that whatever spell Moira McTaggert wishes to cast cannot be for the good of this realm."

Steve's listening, but he's still keeping back, eyes narrowed. "I don't think this is a good idea, Thor. There's no guarantee he won't change his mind and betray us later, and I don't want to be fighting on two fronts at once."

"Without him, there will not be a front to fight upon!" Now it's Thor's voice which is rising. "Please, if you cannot trust him, trust me. I will not allow him to harm anyone else." There's a warrior's edge to his voice that has Natasha gripping her gun tighter - her weapon which is still leveled at Thor, because right behind him is the monster that almost tore their world apart -

The Captain sighs, running a hand over his forehead. "Thor..." He looks tired, and aggravated. "I do trust you, but you have to -" THUD. A door bursts open, slamming into a wall, and Natasha's heart stops. Immediately she lowers the gun and spins around, and the first thing she sees are Clint's wide, wild eyes, the absolute rage burning in them.

Whatever Steve was going to say in reply is swallowed up in Clint's heart wrenching scream as he barrels across the room and flings himself at Loki.

\------------------

Tony Stark and his ragtag group of would-be heroes gather together in the middle of the abandoned street. That would be weird anywhere, but especially here in the middle of New York. Tony's almost certain McTaggert had the area cleared before this began, or perhaps the New Yorkers saw the big shiny hole in the sky and decided not to hang around and see if it was Alien Invasion, Act 2. Whatever the reason, he's glad there are no potential bystanders to get caught in the crossfire.

This isn't the team he'd like to be leading on this mission, at all. He's known Strange for all of a day, and the kids are just that - kids. Albeit kids with super powers, but still. For a moment Tony is overwhelmed with the desire for his team, his people, for his suit and JARVIS and the people who somehow went from being strange co-workers to - to -

"Our priority is stopping the wormhole from hell from blowing us all to bits," Tony starts slowly. He's a little shaken and trying not to show it. "That's your division, Oz. So, what do you need?"

"We must get as close to the portal as possible." Strange begins.

"So, beam us up there, Scotty." Tall, mostly bald teenager cuts in.

"I'm guessing we can't teleport there, or you'd have done that in the first place." Tony answers for him and is gratified to see the magician nod.

"McTaggert may know very little of magic, but she knew enough to ward the Tower. We will have to fight our way up."

"Maybe not," Spinning around, Tony lets his eyes trail over the archetectural masterpiece, the one which he shared with her, with Pepper, the first love he ruined. It seems as if he is always surrounded by his ghosts. "Lights are off. McTaggert's probably taken the tower offline. If you can get me in and I can get JARVIS back up, we can ride the elevator to the top."

"Less talking, more fighting." Long haired, smelly teenager says.

"If you don't stop talking, then we'll start fighting." Mini-Magneto retorts and that shuts him up. As terrifying as she is, Tony really does like her. She's almost like Magneto and Natasha's love-child, and that thought is both horrific and disgusting.

"He's got a point, though, time's not on our side here."

"Then let's." Strange motions to the tower, and takes off, with the kids behind. Tony falters for just a moment.

He watches them, this ragtag group, take off to save the world. This is the group he chose, who he willingly aligned himself with, instead of the Avengers, his people.

He really does have bad judgment, sometimes.

\-----------------------

There are no thoughts inside his head - no motivations, no choices. There's a cloud, a thick fog of crimson red, that makes it impossible to see or hear or even think, all he can do is act, with white noise blaring in his ears and his whole body is shaking with the pain of it -

Through the rage he sees glimpses of black hair and remembers a laugh, a chuckle, a sly smile, a man who turned him inside out, used his veins as puppet strings and made him dance, the man who took Coulson from him not once, but twice -

His can't feel his fists, he can't feel anything, he's a numb fog of ruined man being pulled away from Loki by someone, anyone, he doesn't know nor care, all he knows is that Phil is gone, this monster destroyed him, destroyed them both and there is nothing left -

He is pulled away, but he can still see that hair, those eyes, hear that laugh. Then he sees it: a gun, in the corner of his vision. Instinct. Snatches it, takes aim. He hasn't used a gun in a long time, not since -

/"Call me Agent Coulson."

"Sure thing, Phil."/

A broken snarl comes escapes him and before anyone can stop it -

BANG.

\----------------------

Tony doesn't remember much of the battle on the first few floors. There were a lot of shiny explosions and some gunfire and even a few screams, but through that blur of violence Tony could see the numbers. Running the science and mathematics through his head, jumping from place to place in his building trying to get it back online, paying only enough attention to survive long enough to succeed.

His reward comes in the form of a blessedly familiar voice.

"Sir!" JARVIS cries out, with a thin veil of panic overlaying his even tone. "What is happening? Are you all right?"

JARVIS hasn't been online since before Tony had been set on the Hulk, he imagines, so the AI has missed a lot. "No time to fill you in, J," He says quickly. "We've got to get to the top of the tower, pronto. Can you bring the elevator online?"

"I can, sir, but I'm afraid the line has been cut."

"Dammit!" He should've seen that coming - he's been too distracted, out of his head with feelings he can't afford right now. The numbers, the science, that's what he should be concerned with.

"What's wrong?" Strange is floating off the ground nearby, his hands flaring with light, and whatever he's doing with his mumbo-jumbo is taking out soldiers with astonishing ease. It's almost embarrassing. Between him and Mini-Magneto, who is apparently capable of some form of pinkish explosion with an intricate flick of her hand, most of the bad guys have bit the dust already.

"Elevator's out." Tony answers sharply, pulling up the tower schematics on the computer. "JARVIS, what's the next faster way up there?"

"The construction crews repairing the damage from Loki's invasion force left their equipment on the eastern side of the eighteenth floor, including supportive and suspending scaffolding."

"You beautiful robotic work of genius, I love you."

"I do try, sir."

A relieved chuckle escapes Tony as he spins around. "18th floor. Double time!"

\------------------

Thor's vision has narrowed to a thin, dark tunnel, and all he can see is the blood pouring down his brother's ratty prison shirt.

It defies reality - defies what he can believe, that this has happened, that his brother's blood is coating his hands, that no matter how he presses against Loki's torso it keeps coming, seeping through his fingers. His fellows-in-arms, his team, these mortals whom he has come to value as family, they shed this blood. He could never have believed it had he not seen it, yet the proof is right in front of them. His teammates, that he believed would listen to him, and his brother, shot without warning or provocation.

Thor lifts his head, and his gaze meet's Clint, and the Thunderer is hit with the sudden urge to simply tear him to pieces. To rip him to shreds. How dare he - how dare he harm a son of Odin, brother of Thor, - and now looking into his eyes Thor can see there is no regret, no shame, but a glaring defiant pride.

He thought they would listen, but perhaps that was naive. When these mortals look at his brother, they see a monster who tried to take over their world. Thor knows that is true of Loki, that he has become something monstrous. But when he looks at him, he cannot help but see a small child trailing in his shadow, a conspirator's smile shared behind Father's back, a quietly shared joke at the dinner table which only they understand. Training together, living together, always at each other's side, in battle, in life, in times good and bad.

"What have you done?" Thor whispers though he knows the answer, because it is so inconceivable it is all he can think. "Clint... brother... why?" He knows the answer to that, too, he is no fool, and perhaps this is what Steve foresaw. That Clint could never forgive Loki of the many travesties of which he is guilty.

Steve and Natasha are both holding him back, and now Clint is laying limp between them, a tired smirk and a look of bitter victory upon him. The room is deathly quiet. Besides Thor, not a one dares to break the tense silence, all watching with stunned horror the scene unfolding before them. Thor knows they fear his reprisal, that he may act rashly, but he is no longer the man who acts without thought. He knows what his priority must be.

"What are you doing?"

Steve's voice is so quiet, so soft, yet it cuts through him to the core. "He is wounded, I must take him back to Asgard."

"What happened to helping, huh?" Clint speaks with a dry voice that sounds ragged, as if it's made of shattered glass.

"My brother must be my priority." Thor insists, gently pulling the almost limp figure into his arms. Loki's eyes are shuttered, his breathing ragged - there is so much blood. He is not mortal, and so his resistance to injury is greater, but this bullet went through his chest and almost assuredly through his lungs. He must receive care.

As he is standing and approaching the door, Steve grabs his arm. "Thor, we have a crisis on our hands, and we're down two Avengers already. We need you!"

"I know you do!" Suddenly he cannot hold back his anger, and he whirls halfway round, careful of his passenger. "I know! And I came, bringing what help I could and my trust was betrayed by the ones whom I most believed in!" Clint still doesn't look ashamed but he does look away. The other Avengers, and Pepper and Rhodey, all seem vaguely horrified by what's going on before them, the train wreck which they cannot stop, while the strangers to the group have all slowly inched away and stand in quiet awe of the sight of a family imploding.

"Thor," Steve looks pained, devastated, and for a moment Thor regrets that he is letting loose his anger on him - but this is the man Mjolnir deemed worthy, the mortal who has somehow done what supposed no other but Thor could, and this is the man Thor believed would always be on his side. The man who should have trusted him. The man who should have understood.

He does not let Steve speak. "I understand what my brother has done, I know he is guilty. He is serving for his crimes. In aiding us he could have saved lives as further atonement for those he has taken. Instead, he may die!"

"Good riddance," Clint spits, and Natasha kicks his foot.

The anger flooding him takes on a bitter chill. "'Good riddance'?" Thor whispers to himself. This is what his team thinks of the man he calls brother. This is how they view him. Of course he knew his team did not much care for Loki, and why would they with what he has done, but to not at least understand that Thor loves him and always will because they are family - "If that is truly what you think then perhaps it is time to say good riddance." Turning to Steve, Thor feels tears burn at his eyes and he does not fight them. "If this is what the Avengers are, then I am not sure I belong among them any longer. Perhaps it is best I go. Two of us are already gone, after all. We are hardly a team anymore."

He lingers long enough to watch Steve's mouth drop open, shoulders slumping, to see the man he loves shatter at his words. Then he turns to go.

"Wait,"

The voice is his brother's, cracked and weak, but he knows it so well and it stops him right there. Loki turns his head, glances towards Steve, but Thor has eyes only for the little one in his arms, who once begged him to let him try a new spell upon him, who used to get nauseous riding Father's horse, who would use magic to make the food Thor didn't like eating disappear off his plate -

"The spell your mortal enemy casts," Loki says slowly. "It is being done where we... faced each other... in New York. Upon Stark's tower, as before." Gasping for breath, his brother forces himself to continue speaking as blood begins dripping down his lips. "Without a magic user I doubt you will be able to stop her, but I suppose given... who you are, you will still try."

Thor watches as his brother's strength wanes and his eyes fall half-closed; he does not bother to look up at his friends. Spinning around, he storms out the door and is gone.

\-------------------------

Phil Coulson has many regrets in his life.

He's tried not to feel regretful since coming back. Somehow it seemed rude to pine for things lost when he'd been given back so much which had been taken from him. Now, a prisoner in his own skin, only slightly convinced that there is a chance the Avengers will stop him and the world will be saved, Phil cannot think of anything but the lost chances, the missed moments, all the people who matter and maybe won't ever know just how much.

He thinks of Natasha, stoic, distant, powerful, broken Natasha, who of all the SHIELD agents he has worked with is the best at presenting a front of being whole. Everyone in the Organization carries baggage, but Natasha made it an art form. She became something alluring and attractive in a magnetic way, carrying her scars with such gravity others couldn't help but look upon them in amazement instead of pity or grief.

He thinks of Tony, intelligent, defensive, brilliant, broken Tony, who always pretended not to care because he cared all too much. Tony Stark who over the years has become Phil's friend, has wormed his way beneath the suit to a place where Phil rarely allows anyone.

He thinks of all the Avengers, each with their own ridiculous quirks, their charms, their traumas which they lug around behind them; his team at SHIELD, the people he can no longer work with, or perhaps even, for his own safety, come into contact with. He remembers Nick Fury's face on the Helicarrier when he died, seeing the pain in his even gaze, his stiff form, knowing that beneath the composed mask his friend was mourning for him. Phil wishes he could've said goodbye.

Then, he thinks of Clint, witty, sharp, lightning-quick, and so very lost within his own pain that he seems to be drowning. Phil has done his best to help him, to give some kind of support, but the best he can do is shine a light through the storm. He can't lead Clint to the shore.

Phil thinks of how much the archer has always meant to him, how much he wishes he had told him. It had just never been the right time. First, they worked together in SHIELD, boss and subordinate, and their positions meant quite simply that nothing could ever be between them.

Now? Without the position at SHIELD, the opportunity exists, but Phil had awoken to find a Clint Barton on the verge of collapse and could not in good conscience put his own selfish desires before helping him. Clint had always been just this side of the abyss, just a few inches from tumbling down into the dark, haunted by a childhood of abuse and a life made of disappointed expectations. The last thing Phil wanted to do was try and ask more of Clint than he could give. Or to put upon him more expectations, to make him think Phil would only stay if Clint gave him what he wanted.

He wishes they had had more time.

"Oh, shit!" It's Tony's voice - somehow it doesn't surprise him that Tony Stark is the first Avenger on the scene. For all his troubles and his hang-ups, Tony has a way of diving right at the problem and solving it before anyone else notices it was there. But Clint regrets very deeply that it's Tony, especially since he doesn't seem to have the suit. One of the others would have had a much better chance of survival.

Many others enter into the room after Tony, but Phil recognizes none of them. Still, McTaggert's orders were clear, and he is incapable of denying the drive which is commanding his body at a cellular level. Kill them all, she said. It had been obvious, of course, where they would go to try and reach the roof top. So Phil had been sent to wait for them, and then to kill them. He has no choice in the matter, but he very much hopes that Tony and his newfound friends will kill him, first.

A dark haired man with a long cape steps in front of Tony, raises his hand. "I suppose this means the spell has been completed?"

McTaggert gave him no order to remain silent. "Yes," Phil says. "It is... you could call it buffering, I guess. Within the next ten minutes the portal will be ready."

"Phil..." Tony's voice is shaky, uneven, and Phil hurts to know that Tony will surely blame himself when Phil is dead.

"I'm so sorry, Tony," The Agent says as he lifts his hands, and they become enveloped in a blue glow. "Goodbye."

The world explodes into action - the people with Tony push him behind them, and magic flies through the air in all directions. This is futile. Of the five fighting him, only two are magic users, and the other three have only physical abilities on their side. They may have powers, but they are no match for him. Coulson takes out the three teenage boys one by one, but he does not kill them just yet. Fighting against the imperative with all his strength, he knocks them unconscious and placates the bloodlust in his mind with the thought that he will return to them when he is done with the magic users.

They are both very powerful, but they are not Asgardians, not science experiments forcibly given more power than any human should control. Sadly, he is beginning to believe he will succeed.

But then, he hears a thunderous roar, growing in power; the building shakes, and then an entire wall simply shatters. Phil begins to believe in hope again at two very familiar words.

"HULK SMASH!"


	28. Finale: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock is ticking, and the end is getting near. Our heroes come together in the hopes they might be able to stop the world from ending. But for them, it feels as if it already has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay! Between school and getting sick, its been a hard few weeks. But here we are at the end! I had written one big final chapter, but I decided to divide it into two. Here's the first part. After that, there will be a epilogue, and a possible sequel? We'll see!

Everything is different now.

Hulk is still Hulk, of course, and Banner is still Banner - but they are More, both of them, they are together in a way they've never been. Hulk can feel it, a change growing inside them, something neither of them fully comprehend. He feels himself, his mind, growing larger... so much, all at once, that it is hard to fully take in... but Hulk does not worry. The change will come, and he does not fret over when it will come. As the knowledge expands in his mind, he focuses upon what he does best.

The Suit Man was a friend, but now is trying to hurt Tony and the Strange Cape. That makes Hulk angry, so angry - Remember, Hulk, there's something else going on here, I don't think he's doing this because he wants to - Yes, Suit Man is friend, and something has happened to make friend do this. Hulk will not smash. Well... not smash bad.

Suit Man is strong, stronger than Hulk remembers, but still no match for Hulk. His shiny magic springs off of Hulk's hide, his fists barely leaving a bruise. Hulk huffs, chasing after Suit Man as he moves away, hovering in air like magic. Hulk directs him away, further away from friends, but he does not move too far. Must protect Tony.

Hulk doesn't know strangers with Tony, but they protected Tony, so they are friends, too. Hulk will protect them. Hulk wants to protect them - to protect everyone. That is what Avengers, like Tony and Star man and Red head and the others do. People like them, call them heroes. Hulk wants to be a hero, too.

You already are, Hulk. Banner says to him. I'm just sorry I didn't see it before.

Happiness, so much happiness, from those words. Banner never liked Hulk, was not good to Hulk, but Hulk begin to think maybe he was not good to Banner either. Banner's memories are coming to him, just like his knowledge, and those are not good. Hulk did bad things. Hulk sorry.

"Strange, come on, now's our chance! Hurry!"

That is Tony's voice! Hulk grunts, lifting his head. He can't understand the words - there is so much, so much becoming part of him, it is hard to understand what is outside. But he recognizes the voice. Banner, does too.

"Damn it all, it's too late!"

That voice neither of them know - Hulk tries to listen, but Suit Man is back. He tears up the building, shiny metal beams flying at Hulk, but they are nothing. Roaring, Hulk grabs one midair, bends it like a pretzel, and tosses it back at Suit Man.

"What do you mean, too late? The world isn't blowing up is it?"

"I can no longer perform the spell! Hulk's explosive entrance threw me off balance, and destroyed the -"

Hulk can't hear more, which angers him again. He wants to hear Tony's voice, wants to know what is happening. He thinks Tony sounds upset.

"Without a power source for my counter spell, we're finished!"

"... what about the arc... "

Suit Man flies at him, hits him in the end with something big and blue and it hurts, Hulk roars, it hurts. Flinging his arms about, he stumbles after Suit Man, losing tract of Tony's voice.

"Your - ? Tony, it would take everything -"

"We'll be dead if I don't anyway, right?"

" - have a spare in -"

"No, not anymore..."

"Tony, I -"

The voices fade as pain runs through Hulk again. Suit Man hit his nose, and it hurt, but Suit Man is hurt more. He is breathing hard now, eyes shining a little less. Good. Hulk want to stop him, stop him hurting Hulk and hurting Tony. But Suit Man is friend.

Hulk where's Tony?

Hulk tries to turn and see him, but Suit Man flies at him again. More magic, stinging like bees, and Hulk is flung across the room. A wall of red rage takes over Hulk's mind, and rational thought is forgotten.

\--------------------

It's been more than a few hours since the remnants of the Avengers left. Pepper's not sure she should call them that, anymore... but she wants to. She wants to believe they haven't fallen apart just yet. She's seen a man hit the bottom of the barrel, seen him go through the bottom and down, down, down... and rise up, better and stronger than ever. She hopes the Avengers are as resilient as Tony.

But thinking of Tony sends another stab of aching worry through her, and she clenches her hands tight. How frustrating this is, to be stuck on the sidelines, sitting in an overcrowded hotel room, staring at the TV in fear and doubt. Waiting for the news that someone she loves is gone, that they failed, that the whole world will be gone in a flash, before she's even conscious of the fact they lost. Natasha, Tony, Rhodey, Steve, Clint... so many people she loves, and all she can do is wait.

Every so often, she glances at the front hall, to the blood stains on the floor. She thinks pointedly of the apologies she'll make, the explanations, the payments - the business required to handle the devastation. It allows her to forget the emotions, the agony involved. Distances her from the sight of Thor's angry, betrayed eyes.

She can't say she doesn't understand. Tony... He wasn't always the hero, the Iron Man, and there was many a person who wanted to hurt him for what he'd done to them, and would've been justified to do so. But Pepper would've mourned, would've protected him, even from the justice he deserved. Love is irrational and selfish that way.

Yet, she can't say she sides with Clint, either - and it is this tear, this divide, that worries her. Even if the Avengers survive the night, they may not survive the morning.

Standing in the tiny kitchenette, cupping a mug of tea in her trembling hands, Pepper looks out over the group. The mutants that the team rescued are all here, somewhat reluctantly. They'd been desperate to help, but Steve had rightly pointed out that their weeks of imprisonment had weakened them too much. Instead, the three men sit transfixed in front of the TV, a shot of the tower once known as "Stark" catching fire. From time to time the camera will pan to the big, blue light in the sky, expanding with every minute.

Sighing, Pepper looks away from the TV, biting her lip, fighting the desperate urge to cry.

"You okay?"

She looks up, a little startled. Jane Foster stands next to her, face lined with tears, eyes red. "I think I'm supposed to be asking you that question."

Jane gives a weak laugh, leaning on the counter. "I think we're all in that position. And I don't think any of us are okay."

Pepper nods. Tense silence, so tight it might tear, comes over them, and Pepper frets over what to do. Is the awkward quiet better than asking the questions that no one wants to hear? What have they to talk about but misery? Bruce and Tony disappearing, Thor leaving the Avengers, Clint's downward spiral, Coulson being turned into a brainwashed super weapon, Rhodey being kidnapped and all those poor people being experimented on, tortured and killed. This whole horrible situation, these months of madness. What is there to say, but to ask why them? Why us?

"Any news about Tony?"

"... no." Pepper's voice barely trembles as she glances down into her cup. Her eyes are reflected in the tea's shimmery brown surface. They seem dismal, dark, restless. It feels like it's been years since she had a good rest. "Do you..." She clears her throat. "Do you think Thor will come back?"

"I'd like to think so." She starts, but her own vicious laugh interrupts her, startling Pepper. "But then, there's so much about Thor that I thought I knew. So maybe I'm wrong."

There's so much bitterness in those words that Pepper feels her chest tighten. "Want to talk about it?" She's not sure she should be asking this, not sure what she should do. She's known Jane Foster for a few weeks maybe, had a handful of conversations with her. They can't really be considered friends.

But Jane looks up, watery eyes half lidded. "I don't know." She whispers. "I'm afraid to. I feel so - so foolish, and selfish, and maybe I am but I can't help -" A sob interrupts her and she throws a hand over her mouth.

"Hey, hey," Pepper turns, places a hand on Jane's shoulder. "It's alright. You aren't selfish. And you certainly aren't foolish, I saw your SHIELD file, you're practically a genius." That puts a smile on her face, and warms Pepper's heart. "Is this about Steve?"

Then Jane groans. "Has everyone heard about that?"

"Well, I'm not sure. But Tony, he -" Her voice catches. "Tony told me about it."

"Oh." For a moment, they're quiet. The reality of Tony's absence, of his vacancy in the room, in her life, hits Pepper full force. Then Jane continues. "It's - it's not really about Steve, I - I don't think. He's a wonderful man."

"But?"

They glance at one another, and Jane holds her gaze. "But this has all started to make me wonder."

There's a violent rumble on the television, Pepper hears cursing from the other room, but she refuses to look. Looking, watching, won't change a thing, it'll just torture her as she's forced to observe the end of the world and do nothing. But helping Jane, talking her through this - she's not useless. She can help.

"Thor, when he - when we met..." Jane turns fully, her back to the TV, leaning on the counter. "It was like something out of a fairytale. Even Eric said so, though he meant it in a different way. Thor was so strange at first, but he... he cared so much. He was kind, and gentle, and he never laughed at me. We," Jane's eyes are lit up with memory, a smile making it's way upon her face. "We slept under the stars, and he told me all the stories his people had about the universe. Then Loki came and he, he almost died - to protect us. It was all so unbelievable and wonderful and - and fast. But it felt so good."

"A beautiful, wonderful man falls out of the sky right in front of you, and sweeps you off your feet. I ... I thought that was true love. It's supposed to be, isn't it?" Jane looks up at her, so wounded and confused, and Pepper recognizes those eyes.

"Sure." She starts. "Just like the story of the lonely, arrogant boss falling in love with his charming, lonely assistant, and how they lived happily ever after."

Jane hesitates, perhaps because of how touchy the subject of Tony is right now. "You and he...?"

"For a while." Pepper begins. It does hurt, remembering this, thinking that maybe these memories are all she'll ever have of him. "It was... wonderful. A whirlwind, kind of like you said. Fast and fun and... unsustainable. I wanted someone to hold my hand, to sleep with at night, to wake up with in the morning. He wanted someone who could convince him he was worth being loved, and - well, no one can do that for you. I tried, gave it my best shot. He left me in the end."

That surprises her, by the look on Jane's face. "He left -?"

Nodding, she continues. "Everyone thinks it was the other way around, but Tony was the one who thought he was 'dragging me down', that he wasn't good enough. I think he thought that being with me might convince him otherwise, that I might somehow change his own opinion of himself. And I think maybe I was convinced that being with me would change his mind, that he'd see he could be a good lover and boyfriend and boss and friend and that might... might give him something to be proud of."

"I know a little something about trying to be in love with the person you think you should be in love with." Pepper turns to Jane, removing her hands from her mug. Her tea has long since gone cold. "How hard it is trying to fit what people think you should be or want you to be, or even - what you wish you could be. I wanted to be Tony's savoir, I wanted to be able to do what he wanted me to. But that kind of relationship, it's unhealthy, it can't last."

"And now, being Tony's friend and co-worker and family, too, maybe. He's better off and so am I. We love each other, always will. But," Somehow her chest manages to tighten further. "But with Tasha, it's... different." It takes her a moment to find her voice, and in the meanwhile a tear wets her cheek. "We're not trying to be anything or anyone for each other, we're just ourselves. Good, bad... we go for days and weeks without seeing each other. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and the note she leaves just says "work", and I won't hear from her, won't know where she is or what's she's doing... but she always comes back. I know that one day, she w - won't." Voice cracking, Pepper takes in a deep breath that sounds more like a sob. "I know that, I know. But between then, and now... even with all the distance, it's worth it. It's worth it."

"Relationships aren't about true love and fairytales and trying to fix each other's problems. It's just living day to day with those problems, accepting them, working with them and through them. Love is - it's..." Looking up, Pepper winces at another blast from the TV. "It's the person who's always there, even when they aren't. The one who's just with you, constantly. The friend, the partner." She turns to Jane, and sees the scientist's eyes have gone wide. "I think you do love Thor, and he loves you. But sometimes, we're so desperate for love, for somebody we think we're supposed to want, that we think might make us better, make our lives better, that we cling to that idea so hard... even long past the point we've realized the idea isn't real, that it's not working."

Appearing almost shell shocked, Jane's mouth falls open. Pepper worries for a moment she's said too much, but she never has the chance to find out. The noise in the other room escalates, their names are both called, and Pepper stiffens her resolve. She can't avoid the world any longer. Jane runs out first and Pepper follows after, racing to the TV.

\--------------------------

The fighting's been going on for hours.

Betty's not sure how much longer she can stand it. Just listening to the screams, the thunderous explosions, the shriek of tearing metal. She's not sure what's happening, not sure what outcome would be best, she just wants it to stop.

"I'm sorry you've been pulled into this,"

She glances up through the fingers over her eyes. "Dragged, more like," Betty mutters as she sits up.

Prof. X nods, glances towards the window of the aircraft they're in. It's military build, enormous, and clearly not something that Erik Lensherr should possess. Betty doesn't want to know how he got it.

"I may understand Erik's motivations, but I cannot agree with his methods," The professor finally says. "I am... so very sorry."

She just nods, because what can she say? They're really both victims of circumstance here. She, unlucky enough to be the daughter of the target of Erik's anger, and he, taken simply because of who he is. Betty knows the people kidnapping... "mutants", was it? She knows they're wrong. She can hate Lensherr and still be opposed to what's been done to him and his people.

Footsteps pound upon the entryway, and both Betty and the Prof raise their heads. Maybe it's finally over? Lensherr's people are piling into the ship, arms loaded with supplies, equipment...

"Oh, god." Betty hardly realizes she's standing, watching the mutants carrying their own into the ship, people half starved and mutilated, some badly wounded, some... no longer alive. Stomach flying into her throat, Betty approaches the walkway, faster and faster.

A hand grabs her. "Where do you think you're going?" It's no one Betty recognizes, just another face in the Lensherr parade. She snatches her arm away.

"To lend a hand!" She leaves him gaping, rushes out of the ship, to find even greater devastation. The sight halts her in her tracks.

The aircraft sits in the center of an airfield, and beyond that stands what once was a government facility. Now, it is a ruined wreck, flames and smoke tinting the sunset an even darker red. Echos of gunfire, collapsing buildings, screams, a cacophony of chaos catches her ears. She'd think it were the Hulk, if it wasn't for the fact she knows he's not here.

Spread across the wide expanse between their aircraft and the base, government agents and Lensherr's Brotherhood fight neck in neck; the former, better equipped and more numerous; the latter, capable of feats out of science fiction. She's not really sure who's winning, if there is a victor. Through the fighting, she sees people escaping, some prisoners running on their own steam, others being carried to safety.

"There's so many," She whispers, eyes darting from body to body. What can she do, how in the world can she help, one person so out of place? No research or PhD can help her here.

The flare of a cape catches her eye, and Betty turns. There he stands, Erik Lensherr - perhaps she should call him Magneto as of now - in the middle of the battlefield, a long purple cloak behind him, a red helmet on his head. He'd look ridiculous if he weren't so clearly terrifying.

But what holds her attention is not the striking pose, the commanding figure in the center of the field. No, it's the sheer terror and agony on his face, a look so devastated she cannot associate it with this man, this tormentor. Then, she looks behind him, to the ground.

There's a boy lying there, spread limp across the grass, and even from this distance Betty can see blood. He's curled upon the ground, in Magneto's shadow, and the Master of Magnetism is not moving an inch. He stands between this boy and more than half a dozen soldiers, face twisted in a vicious snarl. He's taking them out, one by one, but he's in an open position and there are so many. Unless he gets away soon, he won't stand for long, not while he has to watch out for the boy behind his back.

There, she thinks, glancing around the field. That much, I can do.

So she springs across the field, right into the danger, sight narrowed to a point where Magneto stands. How she isn't hit by someone, how she isn't killed, Betty can't say. But she makes it to that point and falls to the ground by the boy's side, hand flying to his throat.

"Pulse is weak," Betty mutters to herself, her other hand flying to his forehead. Sweat is soaking him head to foot, and blood as well, but he is alive. She moves to place an arm under his shoulder, and suddenly the bracelet on her wrist holds her arm in place.

"What do you think you're doing!"

"I'm trying to help your son!" She spits back. "You do want him out of here, don't you?" Spinning round, she looks up at the man, who still has his back to her.

"And how can I trust you?"

"That buddy of yours is a psychic, right? Have him tell you if I'm telling the truth or not!" Whether or not he's convinced, Betty doesn't care. Her arm has been set free, and she's moving.

Making it back across the field with the boy in tow is much harder than getting out there. She hasn't moved two steps before guns are trained on her - then, just as suddenly, the barrels of the guns fly up and smash hard into the soldier's faces.

"Move!" With Magneto at her back, Betty runs, the boy slung across her arms. He's so light, much too easy to carry, and as she holds him Betty feels blood begin to seep into her clothes, between her fingers. Tears burn her eyes, to even imagine what this boy had been through...

The rest is a hazy blur of addrenaline and terror: bodies flying all around, smoke choking the air, so much pain and death. Dizziness, nausea, threaten to overcome her but she holds on, she holds the boy and makes it to the plane, where a gurney has been prepared for him. The shouting increases but Betty can't comprehend it, the world is buzzing. Hands move her around and she goes without a fuss. Hardly able to see, to breathe, hands trembling and exhausted, Betty doesn't fall asleep so much as she simply fades away.

\---------------------------

When they arrive at the Tower, it's already a disaster. Half the building appears to be in flames, and more are rising with the minute. Natasha's eyes scour the scene for any sign of red and gold armor, or green skin... nothing. Whoever's fighting in there, it's probably not the other Avengers.

She looks for signs of Thor, too, though she's relatively certain they won't be seeing him. The look on his face when Loki fell... the agony in his voice... it wounded her in a way she'd never have imagined it would. The whole ride here, she found herself waiting for the cheerful boasting that never came, the bellowing laugh that never happened.

She feels Steve's presence at her shoulder before he speaks. "You okay?"

"Always, Cap." She smirks at the weak laugh that prompts from him. "You?"

"No." His voice doesn't betray a thing, doesn't reveal a sign. "Not really." The wind echoes outside the plane, blasting against the metal frame. "I just keep thinking, what if I'd moved faster, what if I'd handled it better."

"The situation was a powder keg." She mutters. "You couldn't have stopped it."

"I didn't." Steve sighs. "Maybe I could have."

There's no way to respond to that, no way to clear away the regret. So she doesn't try. "How's Clint?"

"As good as can be expected." He's up front, flying the craft. Natasha hasn't seen him since the hotel. "At least, I think so. You'd know better than me."

Would she? She's not sure anymore. So much of what she'd thought of the world has been turned upside down these last few months. She'd never have imagined siding against SHIELD, never have seen herself joining a team of super men, trying to save the world, trying to be - be a hero. Natasha Romanov is many things, but she's never been a hero.

The intercom buzzes, and the very man speaks through it. "We're here." His voice is strangely mellow, and the lifelessness in it strikes her to the core. They both have suffered through so much, had so much taken from them... it's hard to imagine there's anything left to take.

But those are thoughts for another time, if that time ever comes. They'll have to live through the night, first.

"We have a plan?"

It takes Steve so long to reply, Natasha wonders if he's left. Yet she turns, and he's still standing there, clenched fist pressed against the wall. "Captain?"

"Should you really be asking me?" His eyes are narrowed, expression tight. "We're not exactly the Avengers anymore. That fell apart. Clearly I wasn't -"

"Steve." When he doesn't respond, Natasha turns and puts a hand on his shoulder. He turns, and she sees tears in his eyes, and it throws her off. "I'm..." She doesn't comfort people. She doesn't reach out this way. What can she say? "I picked my side." Hand falling, she steps away from the wall, back straight. "I'm an Avenger. Which means I take my orders from you."

His head lowers for a moment, perhaps to hide the tears that are finally falling. "Just like that?"

Natasha nods. She hopes its enough, because she doesn't know what else to say.

The back of the plane rumbles as the hatch opens, and Clint runs in. "This things on auto-pilot, we're hanging over the top of the building."

Steve turns, and Natasha watches as the mask of the leader descends over his face. The tears are gone already. "Anybody on the roof?"

Clint shakes his head. "It's clear. Whatever magic she's performing is centered there, though, if the big fucking light is any clue."

"Alright." Nodding, he turns towards the door, and pulls his mask over his face. "We go down to the roof, investigate the spell, and do whatever we have to to stop it."

\----------------------

"Not what you expected, is it?"

A chuckle. "Really, Charles?" Erik starts. "It's hardly been an hour and you're ready to start lecturing."

"That woman saved your son's life." The man continues anyway, ignoring the exhaustion and irritation in his... friend's? Enemies? Voice. "She may have even saved your life." He laughs at that. No human will ever kill him, of that much he is certain. "Are you still convinced we are better than them? That we must oppose them, destroy them?"

Erik Lensherr is very tired. Perhaps he always has been, has never gotten a day of good rest all his life. Always haunted by ghosts, by regrets, by things lost and things unsaid. Now, standing closer to the end than the beginning of his life, looking back over it all, he lacks the certainty and arrogance of youth that once influenced him.

"Of course not," He starts, and he laughs at Xavier's surprise. "It has been quite a long time, my friend. Surely you didn't think I would not have changed at all, that I wouldn't have learned along the way?"

"Well... of course, but... you never..."

"Never came back?" Speaking of regrets. "Hardly a sign I haven't changed."

"Have you?" He looks so much like himself like this, like his younger self. Passion lighting up his face, leaning forward upon his arms, so sure of himself. "If you have learned from your mistakes, why target the Avengers? Why start all this?"

"I started nothing." He snaps at the man, voice rigidly tense. "I left humankind alone for years. Focused upon finding other mutants, training them, taking care of our own. Nothing mattered more than us, than our people. Until Moira McTaggert returned to the FBI and began her hunt."

The plane rumbles; turbulence on the air. They're about an hour out from New York, where McTaggert supposedly ran to, according to the files at their last base. Where she is, he isn't sure, but Erik is ready to tear the country, the whole world, apart to find her. Find her and kill her, slowly, painfully, to make her suffer like...

Glancing up, Erik's already wet eyes grow wetter, watching his baby boy breathe into a mask, tied up to so much machinery, only skin and bone, like those goddamn Nazi camps. A terror his children, his darlings should never have known, he should have protected them -

"This isn't your fault." Charles whispers to him.

"Are you reading my mind?" Erik's voice is hollow, his head lowered, eyes transfixed upon his son's hand, half curled in pain.

"I don't have to. I never did."

"I'm not sure of that." He remembers long arguments, late night conversations, trying to see what Charles saw and never understanding how someone so intelligent could be so stupid. So naive. "You never quite understood how I saw the world."

"Oh, I understood what you believed, and why... I just never agreed." In the corner of his eye he sees Charles lean back into his chair. "And now, so many years later?" He falls quiet. "Sometimes, I wish I had."

That gets his attention, lifts his head. Charles isn't looking at him, though, he's looking at his son, at the sunken eyes on his face. "Back then, I'd have never believed... never even in my darkest nightmare... thought this could happen. That Moira could do this. To think..." His voice shakes as he reaches out with an unsteady hand towards the boy between them. "To think... a child..."

"This is no more your fault than mine." Erik starts. "Your naivety aside, you didn't make Moira do this."

Hand lowering, Charles's gaze meets Erik's. "... what if I did?"

"What?"

He turns, bites his lip, and looks so like the naive, nervous school boy from more than forty years before. "When Moira and I parted, I ... I attempted to erase her memories of us. But I - I was conflicted, and upset, I - I'd lost so much and so fast..." His hands clench the armrests of his chair so hard they turn white. "Looking back, I believe - I am certain - that I inadvertently damaged her mind. Not only did I try to alter her memories without her consent, I failed to do so completely, and I hurt her. Perhaps irreparably."

"You believe that is why she's done this?" He gestures to his boy, eyes transfixed upon Xavier, unsure of what to think. He cannot imagine this man, the man he thought he knew, erasing Moira McTaggert's... the two of them had been so close, to think that he'd...

"I betrayed her. I hurt her, emotionally, physically... and worst of all, I had displayed exactly how dangerous it was to allow mutants free reign. I gave her the impetus, the excuse..."

Frowning, Erik reaches out and takes hold of one of Charles' hands. "You listen to me, Charles Xavier." He leans in, over his son, as close as he can be. Charles won't look at him, won't even turn his head or open his eyes. "What you did was wrong, but this?" Nods to the boy, and though Charles isn't watching, Erik knows he understands. "This is not your crime or your sin. It is hers, and she must pay the price. What wrongs you did to her gave her no right to do what she did to my children! To Pietro, to -"

"Sir!"

They both look up as one. Emma stands in the corridor, eyes wide, appearing as visibly started as such as reserved person can. "There's something happening in New York, and -" She hesitates. Emma never hesitates.

"And what?" He demands sharply.

"Wanda's there."

With just those two words, Erik Lensherr feels fire ignite in his veins, the fury of a father too long afraid for his children's lives. "Find out where! Now!"


	29. The End...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team collides again at Stark Tower, as the end of the world closes in. As the danger piles up everyone starts taking greater risks, and not everyone will walk away unharmed...

This isn’t really how he imagined he would go.

Tony’s no fool; he’s aware that the likelihood he would end up dying of old age and in bed surrounded by family is a laugh for a boatload of reasons, but still, he thought there’d be more action involved. Fighting for his life right to the end, trying to make up for his sins, protecting people. Even more recently that’s evolved into protecting his team, dying beside them… 

Now he doesn’t even get that much. No, Tony Stark’s death will be because of the very fate he’s been so long trying to avoid – cardiac arrest. He’s hit suddenly with the memory of sitting on the couch in his old house, watching Obie leer down at him, unable to do anything to stop him from taking the reactor. Only this time, he’s in full control, and he’s letting it go on purpose.

Surely there is something noble in this. Heroic sacrifice and all. It doesn’t feel heroic. Terrifying, nauseating, panic-inducing, oh yes. Anything but heroic. His hands are shaking as he chases after Dr. Strange, trying to focus through the double-vision that’s overtaking his sight. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

Oh well. At least it means he’ll miss all the messy reunions.

Tony might feel more comforted if he knew for certain this would work. But there’s no math to figure here, no calculations to check. Magic is so out of his field it’s not funny, and if he were going to live past today, he’d do something about that. But it’s not going to mean much in a little while.

Strange bursts out the stairwell to the roof, and Tony rushes after him, trying to shove down the panic pushing at his chest as they come ever closer to his inglorious end. At that he hates himself even more. How can he be thinking so selfishly now, when the whole world’s at stake? What does it matter how he dies, so long as nobody else does today?

“Tony!”

The man freezes, shocked by the voice and the way it’s calling his name. So much for missing the reunions. He can’t even finish turning around before he’s surrounded and hands are all over him and big smiles and voices all around –

“Okay, okay, calm down, personal space!” He tries shoving them away but it only works to an extent, giving him maybe a foot of extra space between him and his team. His team. Elation fills up the cavity inside him even as prickly spikes of anxiety tear at his lungs. He gets to see his team again. He can say goodbye.

Tony scans the three in front of him, eyes narrowing. “Where’s Thor?” He gets all the answer he needs in the way Steve’s expression morphs from gleeful joy to wounded puppy, and how Natasha’s eyes narrow. Clint stiffens, and there’s a whole story in here somewhere, but he doesn’t have time for it. “Never mind. You three need to head downstairs and help Bruce with Coulson.”

“Bruce is here, too?” Natasha steps closer, the hand that’s been on his shoulder since she arrived tightening. Tony thinks perhaps this is the closest they’ve ever been. Or ever will be.

He nods. “We’ve got the magic covered, but we need time.”  
“We can give you that.” Steve nods, all business once more, looking stern and fierce, just like the inspiration Tony grew up admiring in the movie reels. If he were a braver man, he’d have told Steve that he was always intimidated by him, afraid of disappointing him, like he disappointed Dad, of losing the approval of yet another mentor in his life. This is goodbye, and he can’t even…

“I never hated you, you know.” He lets out in one big breath. Steve’s eyes widen, clearly surprised, and hey, so is Tony. He didn’t know he had it in him. 

Then, Steve gives a quick smile. “The feeling’s mutual.” He has maybe half a second to process that before Steve nods and heads to the door, directing Natasha and Clint to follow him. Natasha squeezes Tony’s shoulder again, then she’s off. Clint lingers for just a moment.

“You sure you got this?” He asks, clearly in soldier mode yet hovering, concerned, eyes darting over the scratches and scrapes littering Tony’s body. “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know, traveling the countryside, making friends with hermits, learning important life lessons – I’ll tell you all about when the world isn’t ending.” He nods, and that’s all Clint needs. The archer is already out of his sight when Tony manages to think to himself, Goodbye. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Sir?”

No response; he doesn’t need to give one. He’s not been asked anything that merits one yet. 

“Are you alright, sir?”

There we go. “Fine,” he glances up, sees the badge and rank, rattles it off. “What is it?”

“You requested that you be informed –“ She doesn’t have to finish; he nods, stands, and she sees that her presence is no longer need. With militaristic precision the officer turns on her heel and leaves the room, leaving Nick Fury alone.

The office should be quiet, yet it never is to him. It seems to vibrate, to hum with the secrets it keeps. Sometimes, he could swear it has a voice. But that might just be the job getting to him, after so long. Spend enough time in silence, and it starts seeming to have a sound.

On the screen on his desk, video plays on repeat of the current scene at Stark Tower, of the light reaching into the sky, the Hulk arriving on scene, Cap and his team touching down. A dozen different news reports play alongside it on the monitors that fill the walls, all on mute. He knows what they’re saying. One of his officers wrote the report they’re all obtaining their facts from.

He knew it would come down to this. Not this scenario exactly, not this situation, but one just like it. The Avengers scattered, the enemy closing in, the world on the brink. It was bound to happen. And he has known, and watched, and done little, allowing the cards to fall as they may.

Nick Fury can’t save them. Can’t allow himself to save them. Because if he does, the Initiative was all for nothing. 

Alarms have started blaring, footsteps rumbling in the halls. There may be under an hour left before McTaggert’s plan backfires and destroys the lot of them. Standing here motionless, it’s driving him up a wall, but he can’t. Not yet. Not until the last minute, until he is certain the Avengers have failed and there is nothing they can do. Only then.

“Sir!” It’s Hill, the only officer who can get away with barging unannounced into his office. She’s telling him what he already knows, statistics and warnings and observations – 

“Understood, Hill.”

“Then what are we – ?”

“You are to stand down.”

He doesn’t have to turn around to know there’s anger, indignation on her face. “But, Sir –“

Maria Hill has never quite understood his methods. But she’s a soldier, and she obeys orders, so he only has to repeat himself once more before she gives a curt nod and leaves, eyes aflame. She’ll listen today, but he knows one day she’ll be pushed too far. He’ll deal with that when it comes.

That is what Director Fury does – he deals with things. He plans for the worst and the inevitable, stands strong amid a storm of chaos and deceit, and whatever comes his way, he deals with it. It’s not always pretty, not always nice, hell, sometimes it’s downright horrid. He knew coming into this the kind of people he’d have to lay down with. Most days, he has no regrets.

But today, this role he willingly took on means he has to wait and watch and do absolutely nothing as good people struggle to survive. People Director Fury is forced to use, but that Nick Fury respects and likes and in another life, might’ve called friends. 

He closes his eyes and remembers. Little Anthony Stark peering through partially-open doorways into his father’s meetings; a wild, rough-shot archer demanding Fury spare an enemy agent’s life; that agent bending over backwards to prove she belonged by his side; watching his hero wake up to the chaos of the new world, I had a date. 

Phil Coulson, slipping away in front of him, his blood staining the Helicarrier walls.

This isn’t how Nick Fury imagined his life as a boy, watching Captain America movies and dreaming of being a hero. But that’s not what’s important now. What matters is that soon the world will live or die by the acts of a roughshod, broken team of people who might just have it in them to be the heroes Nick Fury can never be. Very soon, they’ll know.

For now, he stands quiet, and he waits, listening to the silence and the secrets that only he and the walls can tell.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It has been more than half a dozen hours, and Thor is still pacing in the hall outside the healing wards.

He has heard nothing of Loki, or his condition; neither has he heard anything of the future punishments both of them will receive, for sneaking Loki out. And, he thinks, sharp pain hitting him in the chest, he has heard nothing of Earth.

Though he told the Avengers one thing, Thor still stands in the hall, a divided man. He grips Mjolnir tight in one hand as he paces, half considering flying out of Asgard now, while he might still be able to help. What good is he doing here, after all, unable to do anything to assist? Yet, he falters. Thor can’t quite bring himself to leave, not when his brother may die, and it will be his fault. If he leaves, and loses the chance to say one last goodbye… to beg forgiveness… to… 

A sharp gasp escapes him, and very suddenly tears prick his eyes. How did it come to this? To having to choose between Midgard and Asgard, his birthplace and his new home, his family and his friends? Why should he always feel torn, constantly caught between two realms, between two worlds. And in both, the brother whom he adores is feared and hated. Loki…

He is jolted out of his thoughts as the doors to the room fly open. “What news? Is he –?”

“He will be fine, your highness,” The first healer says as she approaches him. She says more and he hears little of it, her first words still ringing through his ears. Now he can breathe again, a burst of laughter escaping him as the tightness in his chest fades. From there, what he said, what he did, it is all a blur, until he is in the room by his brother’s side.

Loki looks… hardly well. He was already weak, horrifically thin and pale, before being shot – (Thor pushes the thought away, forces the images, the sounds, the harsh stab of betrayal out of his mind) – now his life appears like a farce, a quickly fading illusion, the way his chest hardly rises, how his skin seems so pale as to be translucent. Yet, the healers insist he will be fine.

A heavy sigh escapes the Thunderer as he takes a seat beside his brother. The chair is all too small, not fitting a warrior of his size, but it matters little. Thor only has eyes and thoughts for the half-starved man in the bed, wasting away in all senses of the word. He hardly recognizes this man. Brother, where did you go? And how can I find you again?

“What are you doing here?”

The voice shocks him, though it shouldn’t; by now, he should know nothing will keep his brother from saying his piece. Glancing up, he meets tired, half-lidded eyes, bloodshot and dazed. But Loki seems lucid, at least partially awake.

“I came to see you.” Thor starts, unsure of how to answer the question. There is no bond of any kind between them anymore, nothing there to tell him how to act or what to say. He’s afraid of pushing, of saying too much, and losing what little there is left between them. “I wanted to be sure you were well.”

“And what – what of your mortal ‘friends’?” He finishes the sentence with a hiss as if the word were poison, gaze narrowing. 

“I do not know.” He lets his gaze fall as his chest tightens up again. There’s a cloud over his mind, sinking down whenever he thinks of them, whenever he imagines what they might be facing now. Yet, there is anger too, and he tightens his grip on his hammer as he remembers their farewell hours before.

“You do not – why?” Loki attempts to sit up, and Thor stands, meaning to keep him still. “What’s keeping you?”

Thor falters, unsure of what to say, and he fumbles with Loki as he brother waves him off. He stands, awkward and useless, as the man adjusts his pillows to support his head and turns a weary, sharp gaze upon him. “Well?”

“I – I waited to…” Here, he fears saying too much. Anything he says could push Loki further away, or become a weakness for his brother to exploit. Yet he finds it hard to lie to him, even now, when any further acts of deceit upon Asgard’s part might be the end of any chance Loki would forgive them. Forgive him. “I had to know you would live.”

Loki scoffs, his eyes dart away, looking a tad brighter than before. Perhaps the pain has him in tears? Should he go fetch the healer? “Fool. Of course I would. A mortal will never kill me…” Thor is still contemplating alerting the healer when Loki suddenly turns upon him. “Then what of Earth? Has it perished, then?”

“I…”

“Don’t know. Of course.” Another scoff, more derisive than the last. Thor is quite confused. He’s not sure what his brother is wanting, or what he should say, only that he is glad the man is alive to continue to confuse him. “Well, then? I am alive. Should you not run to the rescue of your precious mortals?”

Thor lifts his head, looking past Loki to the wall. He should, shouldn’t he? There is so much at stake, and so little time. His friends need him now more than ever. So why is he hesitating, why is he questioning himself now, when there should be no question in his mind…

“Well, well.” His brother’s voice calls him back. Loki’s crossed his arms, so painfully thin, a smirk upon his face. “The perfect son tis not so perfect. Enacting vengeance upon those who wronged you by allowing their planet to pay the price?”

“No!” Thor shouts empathically, standing as he does. “I would never… I will not allow Earth to be destroyed, even if I were to be so enraged at my team as to abandon them!” But he is not, he could not… Loki has reminded him of that.

“Why hesitate then?” His brother’s voice is sly, as always, and it hurts to hear it so. Thor misses the fondness that he once heard within it. Perhaps it was never really there. “Are you certain you do not harbor that darker streak father so feared in me?”

Perhaps he does. Yes, Thor knows he does. Once he was ready to wage war for a sleight of pride, to kill and murder in the name of glory. He knows darkness resides within him, as it does within all. His team is no exception. He knew Loki had done them great wrong, and he knew Clint had suffered from it more than most. Steve was right – he did not think it through, and that failure to think almost cost Loki his life, and his pride cost his friends when he denied them aid. He has been foolish and arrogant throughout, just as he was before, and he realizes now it is shame which keeps him planted here, shame to return and face those he failed, those he abandoned – 

“Come now,” His brother jeers, a vicious smile on his face. “Don’t look so glum. It’s not over yet.”

Thor looks up, about to question his brother’s words, when a hand takes hold of his wrist, and the world quite suddenly melts away. 

When his senses return to him, Thor finds himself staring at Stark Tower from above, atop a building, with his brother collapsed at his feet. Shocked, he falls to his knees, reaching to take hold of Loki as he slumps further.

“Loki, why?” He starts, but receives no reply. Loki’s eyes fall closed, and his body relaxes into a faint as the last of his power leaves him. Frowning, Thor quickly removes his cape and rests his brother upon it, before turning to look to the skyline, Mjolnir raised.

Pride may have brought him to this, but he will not allow it to keep him from rebuilding what he has destroyed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Clint knows he’s done some stupid shit in his life, but this takes the fucking cake. 

Here they stand, once again, at the end of the world, and in walks the one person who might be able to stop it, and he shoots him. So what if it was Loki, the bastard who tore his head into pieces and killed the first person to ever give a damn about him. It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that billions of people are going to suffer because Clint Barton is stupid. 

Fuck me, he thinks for the thousandth time, letting an arrow loose into one of McTaggert’s lackeys. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He hopes to hell that Tony knows what he’s doing and is gonna pull another miracle out of his ass, because that’s their last hope at this point. Clint fucked up their big chance, now it’s on the ‘I-don’t-believe-it-unless-I-see-it’ engineer to save them from fucking magic. Fuck.

Granted, Tony does the impossible on an almost weekly basis, so there’s a chance they won’t all explode and die. A small chance. Clint’s about to start cursing again when he rounds a corner and all the words in the world but one leave his mind.

“Phil!”

If the agent can hear him, he shows no sign, remaining engaged with the Hulk as they tear across the tower. It’s fucking impressive, actually, watching the middle-aged guy who’s barely 5’5” keeping up with the lean green smashing machine. It would be awesome if it wasn’t Phil. “God fucking – Phil!”

He can’t hear him, won’t even look at him, he doesn’t even look like Phil. There’s a blue tint to his skin and eyes, power radiating off him with every swing of his limbs. The air smells like electricity and sweat, and singed metal, and as he moves closer he feels his ears popping.

So far, it seems like Phil’s holding his own, but no one can really hold the Hulk off forever. He’s nigh unstoppable and seems to have no weaknesses to exploit, which means it’s just a matter of time before Phil wears down and Hulk gets a lucky shot in. Clint’s heart skips at the thought, and he almost staggers, but manages to keep it together just barely. He can stop this. He has to stop this. 

He hears Tasha calling his name but he doesn’t reply, keeping quiet as he moves in. She’s back fighting more goons, caught in the crowd, and Clint is the only one stupid enough to get this close to Phil and Hulk’s fight. They are wrecking the place, and soon the whole building is bound to come toppling down on them, and even then the two of them will probably keep going at it. 

Clint’s eyes hardly leave Phil as he climbs to high ground, maneuvering through debris and rubble, shifting to a better vantage point. His mind races with his heartbeat, running through his options, through the possibilities. There has to be a way to bring Phil back. There has to. He refuses to imagine any other scenario.

“Clint!” Now Steve’s noticed what he’s doing, and is trying to make it to him, but there are a lot of enemy soldiers between them. “Get out of there!” He hears the walls around him creak, watches the glass windows begin to splinter, but that’s alright. He has time. 

Tasha saved him with a blow to the head but Clint can’t see how that’s going to work here. What’s been done to Phil is so much more extensive, he can’t even imagine how to begin. But there has to be something, some way to reach him, if only he could…

Then it hits him. And just as quick he wonders why it didn’t occur to him before.

Throwing off his quiver, his belts, and his bow, tossing aside all the gear he brought with him, Clint abandons his position. He slides back down to the ground, which quakes as he lands, and looks up to Phil and Hulk. They’re off to the left, still trading blows, oblivious to his presence. So, he makes himself known.

“Hey, Big Guy!” Standing, Clint steps into the light, into the center of the room. Steve’s yelling orders his way, over top Natasha’s loud cursing in Russian. Hulk hears him, perking up, turning his way. Their eyes meet. Something’s there in his gaze that wasn’t before, an awareness. Clint can tell Hulk understands. “Would you mind tagging out for a minute? I need to talk to your sparring partner.”

For just a second, he thinks Hulk will refuse. But then he gives a gruff grunt, and steps away, the room shaking as he does. He turns his attention on the soldiers closing in on Steve, Tasha, and the strangers Tony must’ve brought with him – Clint has never seen trained professionals run so fast.

But then he loses track of what’s happening to his friends. Clint turns to face Phil, and the world shrinks to the two of them and the space between them. His clenches his fists until his nails bite into the skin. 

“Hey,” Clint starts, giving a half-assed wave. “Been a while. How’re you holding up?”

“Clint,” His voice, oh god, it hits him and goes straight through him and his knees wobble, “what are you doing?”

“So you remember me!” He laughs because what else can he do? “That’s a start.”

Just barely, a smile appears on Coulson’s face. “You are hard to forget.”

Hearing that – it hurts. Because it’s said with such finality, it sounds the same as goodbye. When he tries speaking again, Clint’s voice catches in his throat. “What’s going on, buddy? Want to fill me in here?”

“I’m being controlled, much like you were,” Phil starts, and he takes a step forward. In his hand he holds the spear, the very one Clint still dreams of touching so gently against his chest. “But then you knew that. What you don’t seem to have realized yet is that there is no way to reverse it.”

“Not with an attitude like that, there isn’t.” Keep up the humor, Barton, stick with the smile. Lose that façade and the tears won’t stop. “All it took with me was being knocked around a few times.”

“You were being controlled remotely, Clint, by a device.” Phil lifts the spear, gesturing with it, as he moves another step closer. “It was easy to set you free, and Moira knew that. Her devices are inside me, Clint, I – I can feel them manipulating me, and I can’t fight them –“

“You seem to be fighting now.” He’s breathless, and terrified, and his eyes are stuck to Phil’s pain stricken face. “You aren’t killing me after all.”

“I was never strictly ordered to kill you, specifically. It’s a loophole.” Clint glances away. “It won’t last long. The imperative will demand my cooperation, and when that happens, you must kill me.”

“No,” He speaks before he even thinks, reacting instinctively. “No, I can’t –“

“Clint –“

“Don’t call me that!”

His scream echoes through the dilapidation, stops Coulson in his tracks. “You never call me that. It’s always Barton, or a codename, or Hawkeye. You can’t start calling me that now, not now, you don’t get to –“

“This is the last time I’ll ever get to say it.”

“No!” Now it’s Clint rushing forward, Clint closing the distance until they are within a hair’s breadth of each other. “No, it’s not – don’t say that.”

“Lying doesn’t change the truth.” Coulson’s voice is soft, gentle. His eyes, red rimmed and half lidded, seem very tired. “At least this way we have a chance to say goodbye.” 

He tries to refuse again but no words come out, just a dry sob that shakes him to the core. No, no, no, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, this can’t be the end for them, he can’t – “I can’t lose you twice.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, fight this! You’ve got to!”

“You’ve been where I am. You know how impossible this is to escape.”

“But you’ve got to be able to, you’re a better agent, a better man than I’ve ever been, you’ve always been better, you can – you can –“ Openly sobbing, Clint curses again and shoves at Phil to push him away, though he doesn’t move. “Fuck you! Fuck you! You - !”

He’s hit from behind – the world darkens, he slumps to the ground, limp. For a moment everything fades in and out, then halfway, until he can just barely hear and see.

Tasha stands where he was, now, facing Coulson, arms pulled tight to her sides. He’s smiling, the bastard is smiling, the fucker, he can’t –

“If I ask you to kill me when I can’t fight this anymore, will you?” He says to her. Tasha’s eyes are wet, and wide, but she’s as controlled as always.

“I saved Clint, I can save you.” She mutters, voice tight. Phil sighs, but he’s still smiling.

“Goodbye, Natasha,” and he swings the spear – and Clint fades back out into darkness.

When he fades in again, it’s like waking up from a nightmare, only to see the nightmare is real. It shocks him, like touching a livewire, and suddenly he’s up, standing, taking in the scene. 

Tasha’s fighting Coulson and holding her own, but it’s clear she won’t hold forever. He can’t see Hulk, at first, until he turns and notices Steve kneeling next to a shivering Bruce Banner. Fuck. This is – fuck.

He hears a grunt of pain and spins, facing the fight, where Natasha is losing ground and fast. She’s worn out, they all are, it’s been the week from hell and they’ve been fighting tooth and nail through it, and Coulson’s got powers none of them compare to. Fuck. He’s done it again, fucked up and now Natasha is going to pay because none of them are strong enough to stop this guy, and he can’t lose Phil and Natasha, he can’t.

For a moment he is transfixed, only able to watch in horror as Natasha gives it all she’s got and it isn’t enough, until – Phil dodges one of her blows, and she hits the staff instead, sending it flying. Neither of them really notice, returning immediately to the fight, but Clint does. The gold staff soaring through space ignites a fire in his mind and it builds and builds and suddenly, he’s got an idea.

He reaches back to grab his bow – only to remember he’d stashed it, and fuck, it’s too far away. He’s only got so much time. Glancing up, he sees Steve, standing, and their eyes meet, and as subtly as he can he nods to the staff. As he watches, Steve follows his gaze and sees it, then meets his eyes again. Nods. 

Taking a deep breath, Clint gets ready for what may be the most moronic, foolish stunt of his life. If this fails, he hopes his friends put something dignified on his tombstone. If anyone is left around to bury him.

He darts across the floor to where the building is collapsing, and gets as close to the edge as he can. Looking down is a doozy. They’re at least forty floors up and there is no way he is getting up and walking away from this if it doesn’t work. Go big or go home, right?

“Hey, Phil!” Clint shouts as loudly as he can, grabbing hold of part of the rubble near him. He sees Coulson turn sharply, eyes wide and wild, and it hits him that this is actually happening. This might be the last thing he ever does. 

“You wanted to say goodbye? Okay.” He shrugs, moves closer to the edge. “Goodbye.” Then he pushes off the rubble, and starts freefalling.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Clint!” 

Steve’s not sure which of them shouted; when Clint hits the air, both Natasha and Coulson move towards him, but it’s Coulson that flies out the window. Natasha halts half a second before she too, would’ve gone flying, staring after her opponent in shock and relief. Steve, meanwhile, takes his chance, darting through the room, past where Coulson had stood just a moment before, to the staff left abandoned on the ground.

“Please, work,” He whispers quickly – then lifts his shield, and swings downward, hitting the gem on the spear with a resounding thud. A moment later he hears a crack, and is blinded by the blistering light that bursts just after.

When the light fades and his ears stop ringing, Steve looks down and sees, to his great relief, that the spear is destroyed. Gem cracked, its inner light gone, seeming to be for all he can tell defunct. He only hopes that it’s enough to shake Coulson free, and that he and Clint will both walk away from this alive. But for now, he can’t worry about that, as much as he wants to. The sight of him letting go, falling, just like Bucky – not now, soldier, there’s more work to do.

“Come on,” He turns to Natasha and Bruce, who is slowly fighting to stand. Behind them, a group of teenagers Steve has never met are congregating, watching the Avengers with looks that range from nervous to star struck. Whoever they are, he’ll worry about them later. “We’ve got to make sure Tony stopped the spell.”

“NO!”

She comes at him out of nowhere, a sudden figure leaping from the shadows. There’s no power, no discipline behind the attack, it’s simply a desperate uncoordinated lunge. He counters easily, spinning and grabbing hold of the older woman’s arms as she attempts to lift her gun. Just as quickly, Natasha snatches it from her hands, disarming it.

The fight fades from the woman very quickly, turning into a vicious string of curses and unintelligible babble. Her eyes are strangely wide, almost frighteningly white, and the color is gone from her face. Steve loosens his grip, looking over to Bruce, who is staring at the woman with concern.

“You’re a doctor, right? What’s wrong with her?” Bruce is already approaching as Steve speaks, lifting his hands to her forehead, glancing over her.

“She’s definitely ill, but with what…?” 

“Worry about it later.” Natasha interjects, and Steve realizes she’s right. So, he swings the delirious woman into his arms, and turns to the stairs. Echoing footsteps behind him tell him that not only are his teammates following, but so are the strangers.

They make it to the roof in a flash – just in time to see Tony shivering on the ground, clutching at his chest, where the reactor is gone.

“Tony!”

All three Avengers leap into action, but it’s Bruce who gets there first. It’s like Steve blinked and he was across the roof, pulling Tony into his lap, looking him over. A snarl comes over his face as Bruce looks up, eyes green, towards the man holding Tony’s reactor in his hands. But before Bruce can stand and move to attack, Tony grabs him.

“Don’t -!” He coughs, unable to continue, but the glowing man finishes for him.

“I’m afraid this is necessary, Dr. Banner, and Mr. Stark is a willing participant.”

“What are you doing?” Heart pounding, Steve moves closer, watching as the man channels some form of blue energy into the device that is all that keeps Tony from dying painfully, in agony.

“We arrived too late to stop McTaggert,” Tony starts, struggling to sit up. Bruce puts his arms under the man’s shoulders, lifting for him, concern and grief clear upon his face. “The spell’s already going, but we can counteract it.”

“I needed a power source for the spell – something with some magic within it. And, believe it or not,” The magician gave a little sigh. “Tony Stark’s Arc Reactor is, indeed, magic. He simply never realized what he had tapped into when he created it.”

“Blasphemy.” Tony starts, cutting himself off with a choking noise. “I always know what I’m doing.”

“Tony, you – you have a spare here, don’t you? Some kind of back-up?” Bruce sounds the way Steve feels, frantic and terrified, and on the verge of tears. 

“Not anymore.” Tony, meanwhile, simply seems… resigned. Eyes half closed, face pale, chest heaving with every pained breath. “Moved them to the mansion when we left New York.”

“The suit has one doesn’t it?” Steve starts, grasping for straws.

“Destroyed. It’s useless.” Tony coughs again. “Sorry, guys.”

“Don’t apologize.” Voice shaking as he speaks, Bruce pulls Tony closer. “God, don’t – you just saved the world.” The first of his tears fall, and Steve finds it’s suddenly much harder not to cry. Not just to cry, but to scream and cuss and beat his fists upon the ground. First Coulson, then Thor, and Clint might be gone, and now Tony? No, no! He’s already lost his whole world once, he can’t do it again! “You just died to save the world…”

“Not quite!” Suddenly the magician stands, cursing in a tongue Steve has never heard. Immediately Natasha turns to him, the first move she’s made this whole time. 

“What?” She’s shouting, and Steve can hear the tension, the pain shaking her voice. She’s afraid. She’s afraid and frustrated and grieving, just like they are, only it shows in the wideness of her eyes, her frozen frame.

“It’s not enough! Damn it, it’s not enough!” Pacing, the man flings his hands up and runs his fingers through his hair. “The barrier must be just perfect to keep the energy from making it through, and to keep it from exploding back on us. As it is now, it won’t hold!” 

A chill sinks into Steve’s bones, just as Tony lets out a heartbreaking sound, half laugh, half cough. “See, Bruce? It’s alright, I’m not dying – we’re all dying!”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

For a terrifying moment, he perceives nothing but the air buffeting his ears, and the colors of the world swirling around him. He’s about to die. Really, truly, he’s about to die this time, and he’s kinda okay with it. Making a foolishly daring attempt to save the person you love is a good way to go, ri – 

Oh fuck.

Then, almost as soon as he feels the terror and the shock flooding him as he spirals downward, he feels arms come around him, and just as quickly as he started his momentum begins to slow. It’s a subtle, easy thing, they’re still falling but it’s gentle and controlled. They’re being turned right-side up as they go, until by the time they hit the ground, Clint’s gently placed upon his own feet.

He then promptly goes weak-kneed and starts to fall, but the arms around him haven’t let go yet. Which is good, because his heartbeat and burst eardrums are a cacophony in his ears, and the world won’t stop spinning.

“You are the most irrational, reckless idiot I have ever known.”

To that, all Clint can do is laugh, and with it some of the tension he’s been carrying for days, weeks, maybe even months, floats away. “That’s saying something, given the circles we run in.”

When he opens his eyes, he looks directly into Phil Coulson’s eyes – his normal, human eyes. It takes a moment for it to sink in, but when it does, Clint lets out a gasp followed by a thrilled cheer.

“Hell yeah!” He knew it would work, he knew it – because McTaggert never told Coulson to kill him, which meant she never specified what to do about Clint Barton. Which meant Coulson was free to choose to save him, giving Steve just enough time to destroy the spear. 

“How?” Coulson’s looking at him like he just invented an element, dazed and just a little confused. 

“The spear. You said the device was inside you, but you still carried that thing around. I figured it had to be a receiver, or power source, or something. Get rid of that, and it doesn’t matter what shit McTaggert put in your head, the outside source is gone.”

“Clint, you…”

“Hey, what did I say?”

A smile blooms across Coulson’s face, and it occurs to Clint just how close they are. “It’s not farewell anymore.”

Something bursts to life inside his chest, a warmth that crawls and shivers and puts him on edge. “Well… it’s still weird. You’ve never called me that.”

“You’ve always been my subordinate. But I don’t work for SHIELD anymore, which means I’m not your boss.” Oh. He hadn’t really thought of that. Given there’s been so much going on, who can blame him? Work was the last thing on his mind. “Why did you do that?”

Shaken from his thoughts, Clint lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

“You could have died, Clint.”

“Oh, that.” He shrugs, trying to step back a little, now that the world’s stopped spinning. Coulson’s grip relaxes somewhat, but they’re still mighty close. “It was a calculated risk. Worked, didn’t it?” Coulson’s look heavily implies that he is nowhere near okay with that explanation, but Clint ignores it. “And stop saying my name all the time, you’re gonna wear it out.”

“Can you blame me? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He sighs, hands finally dropping away, and Clint feels cold where his touch had been. “I’d accepted that this would be the end. But you refused to let me go.”

“What can I say, I’m a stubborn bastard.” He could say plenty more, actually. There are words yearning to burst from his chest, now that he recognizes this for what it is, now that months of mourning and aching make sense. How could he have been so thick-headed? How could he not have seen? But then, that’s just who he is. Put him at a distance, he can see it all, piece every puzzle together. But, being this close… he didn’t even see it coming.

But whatever he wants to say, he never gets the chance. The echo of an explosion thunders around them, the sky flashes, and Clint falls to his knees, throwing his hands over his ears. It only lasts a second, but it’s overwhelming. And when it’s over, he looks up to see the other man sprawled across the ground, eyes closed. 

“Phil!”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“There has to be something we can do!”

The voices around him are fading in and out, but Tony recognizes this one: Wanda, Magneto’s kid. He’s glad she’s okay, he only hopes the other teenagers he dragged into this fared so well. What was he thinking? Recruiting kids to save the world? God, he’s made a mess of things…

“We need another power source, something with some magic – but only some! Too much at this point will overload the barrier.”

That’s Dr. Strange… he seems okay. What a weirdo, but mostly an okay guy, Tony supposes. Kinda annoying and self-righteous, but maybe that’s just a magic thing. 

“Tony, Tony stay with me.”

Bruce. He tries saying the word but it’s getting harder to think, let alone speak. There’s a drum pounding inside him, hard and loud, but it’s growing distant… like he’s hearing it through a long tunnel…

“Tony! Open your eyes!” 

He closed his eyes? Now that he thinks about it, it is really dark… he struggles to move, pain wracking his whole body, but in a moment he manages to, at least, part his eyelids.

It is Bruce, right above him, eyes glimmering with tears. The sight hurts him. There’s so much he wishes he could say now, so many apologies to make, but he doesn’t think he’ll last that long. At least he got to see him, one last time…

“Tony Stark.”

That voice, he doesn’t know. Or perhaps he does… everything is so confusing, and muddled… it’s like he’s falling, falling further and further into darkness and silence, and all the world around him grows even more distant….

Then, quite suddenly, everything snaps back into place.

“Holy Mary Mother of God!” He shouts, snapping up as his chest lightens and he can breathe again. Just as quickly he falls back, caught by a pair of arms, almost hyperventilating.

“Calm down, Tony, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re safe…”

Coughing, he tries looking around, but the world is still kinda blurry. “Yeah, I can tell, but how?” He knows there were no other reactors, he’s certain of that, so how in the… then his vision returns. Bruce is still there, cradling him on one side, but on the other… “Oh. You.”

Erik Lensherr is kneeling on Tony’s other side, opposite Bruce, one hand pressed against Tony’s chest. “Stark. A pleasure to see you again.”

“I hope you choke.”

“I assure you the feeling is mutual.”

Two voices protest just then, and it takes a moment for Tony, in his exhaustion, to sort it out. Then he sees Wanda, standing right at her father’s side, and Charles Xavier on the other. Relief sweeps through him at that, and a tired smile comes over his face.

“Okay… okay this is awesome and all…” He starts, pausing to breathe. “But last time I was coherent, the world was ending. Is that still a thing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Natasha says from just behind him, and Tony jolts with a curse.

“Fuck – don’t do that! Do you want to actually give me a heart attack?”

“Tony,” She ignores him, looking above him towards the spell in the sky. “Tell Steve he can’t jump into the magic space portal.”

“Steve!” Suddenly he’s sitting up, ignoring Bruce’s quiet protesting in his ear. Clearly he missed something, but whatever it was, he knows he’s with Natasha on this one. “You can’t jump into the magic space portal!”

Steve’s standing near the edge, next to Dr. Strange, a serious, firm look upon his face. Tony knows that look. It’s the “I’m the Leader and I’ve Decided” look, and he’s never, not once, turned Steve away from his chosen course when he looks like that. 

“No can do, Tony.” The man says, voice steady. He looks better than he did earlier, more controlled, centered. “If I don’t, we all die, anyway.” He’s turning, looking down on Tony with fond eyes, and it’s a look that makes him ache. This isn’t okay, not now, not ever. Why is this happening?

“Explanation, please?” He sits up further, and pain spikes in his chest for just a moment. 

“You realize you are still, technically, dying, don’t you?” Magneto huffs, putting his hand back, more firmly. “Stop fidgeting!”

“Shut up!” He shoots back, uncaring. His heart is racing as if he were still dying, anyway, so what’s the difference? “Why is Cap jumping?”

“The counter-spell needs a little more juice.” Natasha, now kneeling just behind Tony, begins. “Dr. Strange thought Cap’s shield might have some magic in it, but…” She doesn’t have to finish – the answer flares to life in his mind.

“Erskine’s formula.” Steve, moving to kneel by Tony, nods as the engineer turns to him. “That’s why it worked with you and no one else. That’s – Mjolnir. You can lift Mjolnir.” It’s all making sense, the little pieces about Cap that didn’t fit. Just a touch of magic changes everything. “You’re magic?”

“Apparently so.” A tired smile appears on his face, soft and apologetic. “Which means I’m the only one who can do this.”

“No, Steve – you can’t.” He reaches out with a trembling hand and takes as tight a hold as he can on Steve’s arm. “What’s out there is deeper and colder than any ocean on this planet, and – and there’s no coming back. It won’t be sixty years, it won’t be six hundred years. There’s no way we’ll ever find you!”

“I know.” How can he speak with such command, with such an even tone, about this? How can he -?

“Steve, no –“

“Tony, listen to me.” He interjects, voice firmer than before. Tony stops immediately. He’s shaken and probably on the verge of crying, if he isn’t already, and he can’t believe they’re about to lose Cap to this, that Steve Rogers is about to – to – “Tony.”

“Yeah?” His voice cracks, but nobody says a word. The whole roof is quiet, but for the vicious crackling of the electricity in the air, of the blue waves of energy flying overhead. 

“I know you hate this kind of thing, but since this is the last chance we’ve got, I want to ask you to listen. Can you do that for me?” Steve’s talking like there’s a choice here, like Tony would actually turn him down. “A last request?”

“Fuck, yes, sure Steve, whatever you want.”

A little sigh escapes him, a smile following in its shadow. His face lights up. “I’m sorry.” Steve starts. “I’ve been trying to say that for months now. I am so, so sorry, for how I judged you when we met, what I said. I should never have done that.” This – this can’t – no. Tony’s hand starts trembling more but he only notices it when Steve covers it with his own. “I know you hate these kinds of things, but – I wanted to… to let you know that. I don’t think that about you anymore, I was wrong to ever think it.” Their eyes meet. Tony almost looks down to see if Magneto’s hand is still there, because surely he’s having a heart attack right now? “You’re a great man, Tony Stark. And I’m proud to have known you.” There’s something lodged in Tony’s throat, it’s keeping him from saying anything. Steve hesitates. “Would you… keep the shield for me? I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.” Somehow he manages to nod. Steve nods back. Then, he’s moving away.

Oh, god. He should say something. Something, anything. This is goodbye, and he can’t think of anything to say. Tony’s shaking, there are tears on his face, and Steve squeezes his hand one last time before he stands. He’s talking to the others, he’s starting to say his goodbyes, but then the world shakes. It’s getting worse, the light is growing, and there’s not much time. Tony watches as Steve spins round, looking up, realizing for himself that this is it. 

For just a moment, he turns and looks at them: at Bruce, Natasha, and Tony, huddled on the roof, the remnants of his team. Steve smiles, a big, bright smile, a farewell. Then, Dr. Strange envelops him in light, the two of them are floating away, and Steve is gone.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--==-=-=-

“I’m sorry it has come to this.”

Steve almost says, I’m not, but he holds his tongue. Maybe it’s cowardly, thinking this way. But by doing this, maybe he can make up fofor his mistakes, for letting the team fall apart. Clearly he just wasn’t cut out for this role, in this era. Maybe the martyr is all he was ever meant to be.

That’s okay – at least, now, Tony will make it through this. He’s so much more important now, so much more relevant. This is the day and age for a hero like Iron Man. Captain America is done, he’s a relic of an older time, there’s no place here for him anymore. But making this sacrifice, laying down on the wire… this he can do.

“Are you ready?” They’re above the bluish-grey tear in the sky, diagonally across from it, but close enough that Steve will make it when he jumps. It’s… terrifying to say the least. He can actually see the blackness on the other side, and for a moment, primeval fear steals his breath away. He remembers the plane, plunging into the water, the cold sinking in before he succumbed. This is going to be much, much worse.

“Yeah,” He whispers. “I’m ready.”

Strange nods, moving back. “All you need do is jump.” 

Great, he thinks. Just jump. That’s easy. But he looks across the gap, to the space below, and suddenly it’s the hardest thing in the world. He has to do this, he reminds himself. Because if he doesn’t… all the people below, all the people across the world, will pay the price. All his friends, his loved ones, his teammates, they’ll die, if Steve falters now. That thought is all it takes. The fear is still there, pounding in his chest, but he’s hardened himself to it. He can face this, so they won’t have to. And that makes it all okay.

So, Steve Rogers swings his arms, takes two steps forward, jumps and hits the air… for a moment he flies upward, but it’s not long before he starts to descend… his heartbeat skyrocketing, eyes widening, the rush of fear overtaking everything… this is it, this is the end… he’s in the plane, hitting the water, he’s saying goodbye… he’s making false promises to Peggy… he’s watching Thor’s eyes darken as he turns away… he’s cold, he’s cold, so cold –

Suddenly his momentum changes direction, and he’s flying away from the rip. When he realizes it, he starts to fight the arms gripping him, trying to say no take me back, but he can hardly breathe let alone speak. They slam into a rooftop nearby, tumbling to the ground, and as soon as he can, Steve leaps to his feet.

“No, you don’t under-“ The words die on his tongue as he meets Thor’s wide, furious eyes. The sight stuns him, and he’s thrilled and amazed but there’s no time for this, no time even to explain. So he rushes at the roof’s edge, about to jump again – only for a powerful, broad arm to bar his way. “Thor, get out of the way!” 

The Asgardian doesn’t listen, so Steve does what he has to, starts fighting back. He tears his arm away and swings his legs out to knock Thor down, but he sees it coming. In two seconds flat, Steve is face down on the ground, colors flashing in front of his eyes. When sense returns, he leaps to his feet.

When he stands, the sight he sees stops him in his tracks. Thor is in the air again, in front of the tear, staring right into it with Mjolnir spinning in his right hand. For a terrifying moment, Steve is convinced the man is about to fly into it. But just as he starts running towards him, to try and do anything to stop him, Thor lets Mjolnir go.

The hammer flies right into the tear, and when they meet, the world flares with light and sound that throws Steve back on the ground with such force that he loses consciousness immediately.


	30. ... Is Only the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything finally comes together. The world is saved, and maybe, just maybe, the Avengers also save themselves.

_Three Months Later_

Heimdall already knows who is approaching him before they slow to a halt beside him.

"What news, gatekeeper?" The Queen asks. There is exhaustion in her voice, a bereft tone that breaks the heart of the reserved warrior she speaks to. Who speaks now is not Queen of Asgard, but simply Frigga, mother of two bright, reckless boys, and worried to death by them.

"Midgard still stands." Heimdall responds, bright eyes gazing far beyond the glimmering sky above them. Though he is not looking now, he knows from times past what that realm will look like: an expanse of blue and green and white, still rotating undeterred by any magic incantation. "Her people have suffered great tribulation, and will continue to, but they have not been destroyed."

"And what of my sons?" The Queen does not hesitate, does not stammer nor stutter. There have been and always will be two sons of Odin in the eyes of his wife, whatever the King himself, or Asgard as a whole may believe. It almost makes Heimdall smile, but he keeps his sentiment to himself. "What of Loki and Thor?"

"They are as well as can be expected." Heimdall lets his answers remain simple, straightforward, bearing only the most necessary information. "Mjolnir is still lost, beyond my sight."

"A pity." Frigga sighs, looking out over the stars as if he might see the mighty hammer soaring through the darkness between them. "It was a fine weapon."

"Indeed."

They stand in silence above the rift, mere feet from that dreadful spot in which Loki plummeted into the darkness. It echoes with the memory, with Thor's pained screams, the disappointment of a father and a son. Heimdall tries not to glance that way all too often.

"Have they… spoken much?"

There is reluctance, reticence, to his queen's voice then, and quite suddenly the tone of the conversation shifts. Heimdall turns his gaze, looking upon Frigga's distraught face, the downcast glance of a mother unsure of how best to care for her troubled sons.

"Some." He begins. "It is not easy for them." Turning, he lets his gaze fall, looking lower in the sky. "But they are trying, and both have found support in the mortals around them."

"Both?" Surprise shows in her voice as Frigga turns. "Loki as well?"

"Hm," A dash of humor touches his voice then, "Loki, too, has found companionship in Midgard. Among Thor's mortal allies, there are those who will tolerate his presence: some for the sake of Thor; others out of compassion. Though he is not close to anyone, there are bonds there which, with time, may strengthen and grow."

Laughter bursts from the Queen, a quick release of energy. "I can hardly believe it. How did this happen?"

"It is quite the story, and a lengthy one."

"Still, I would hear you tell it." Frigga says, nodding firmly. "If these mortals and their world are to be my sons' new home, I would know as much as I can of it, and them."

Heimdall, shifting his eyes, looks to his queen. "From the beginning, then?" He asks. Frigga's reply is a simple, short nod. "Very well." When the gatekeeper looks back out over the vast distance, his eyes take on a brighter hue, swirling and glowing as they gaze out into the sky. "From the beginning."

_My gaze reaches far, and sees deeply into every realm, as you know, my Queen. Yet I can only see that which I look upon, and no Asgardian can turn back time. Thus, my eyes have seen little of these Avengers._

_Little more than half a year ago, your eldest son returned to Midgard, to find Loki and the Tesseract. It is then that my gaze was drawn to these mortals. Five of them, young even for their kind, and yet together alongside Thor they defeated the Chitauri and ended Loki's schemes._

_I was intrigued by them, as were we all. For the Allfather's heir to so cherish an alien world… many of our people were disdained to see it._

" _And you, my friend?"_

_Perhaps I was confused, for a time. But I have come to see what Thor sees in them, and they are wondrous indeed. Flawed, conflicted, yes, but all the more fantastic for it, and the Avengers are examples of the best and worst they have to offer._

" _Good they may be, but I fear what may come should this divide between our people deepen further. Should Asgard and Midgard be turned against one another, I would not have my son trapped between."_

_I do not believe it shall come to that. I cannot say we shall never war against the mortals, but should such a thing occur, Thor would never be abandoned by his mortal allies …_

_**A Few Minutes After the Apocalypse that Wasn't** _

The world is a dim, hazy blur, all sights and sounds painful to him… his head aches, made even worse as he realizes his ears are ringing loudly. But slowly, through the din, other sounds come to him, muffled tones as if from a long way's off…

"Careful, give him room!"

"Is he alright? Sit him up, make sure his throat's opened up –"

"Don't worry, buddy, help's on the way, there's an ambulance coming –"

He knows them, these voices, he knows them well… and when finally he manages to part his weary eyes, he knows the faces just as familiarly.

"My friends," Thor whispers, eyes half closed, already falling shut again.

"Shush, keep your energy," Natasha's voice comes to him from his side, where she is pressing cloth against his arm. Though his sight is blurry he sees that she has lost her shirt, wearing only a sports bra.

"Black Widow, you…" He coughs, voice rasping. "Your covering… have my…" His words end as he remembers he left his cape with Loki… is his brother all right?

"Half dead and he's still worrying about other people." That is… that is Steve, just above him, whose hands must be those supporting his head. A short burst of sheepish laughter escapes him, and it sounds so happy, so care free, Thor cannot help but smile. "Now I feel bad, I didn't even notice you'd taken it off."

"Cotton absorbs liquid better than whatever polymer it is you're wearing." Natasha answers quickly. "And Bruce really can't afford to lose anymore clothing."

"I, however, am always willing to sacrifice my dignity for the team." Tony's voice just barely reaches Thor, it is so rough and quiet, and layered over with Bruce's insistence that the man be quiet and rest. "Do I have any dignity left to lose, actually? Doesn't matter – Tasha, take my clothes. The media has already seen all of this a thousand times."

"They haven't seen you since Afghanistan, and I know you've made sure to keep it that way." An indignant squawk is his only reply. Thor, still half awake, looks up and sees the woman above him smiling, beaming like he's never seen. "Whereas I really don't care."

The rustle of clothing comes from his other side, and though Thor cannot turn to see him, he recognizes the purple shirt thrown Natasha's way. "There we go, more bandages for the dying Asgardian. Now I'll just go wrap my pants around Coulson's head, and Tasha and I can have an undies party. He's alive and mind-control free, by the way. Just FYI."

"Hey, don't get snarky at me, I'm technically still dying, right now, as we speak." Tony stabs back. "And I heard about your stunt, buddy! Soon as I'm back in the garage I am upgrading your uniform to include magnetized boots that keep your ass firmly on the ground."

"And I'm putting a tracker in  _your_  goddamn ass! Yours too, green bean!"

The conversation doesn't end; it lulls back and forth, tired and relieved, full of quietly expressed joy that they are all still here, all alive. Thor listens for as long as he can, smiling brightly, before darkness overtakes him again.

….

" _They are quite fond of him, then."_

_Indeed._

" _I had feared those bonds were lost to him."_

_They certainly suffered, and bent, but were never broken._

_They have never quite opened themselves to one another, not even as close as they have come._

_Asgardians who go into battle together know that secrets and pains kept hidden from your allies may bring every warrior down. But these warriors, even your son, have hesitated to allow such closeness between one another. Hidden wounds and old losses gone unremarked have driven them further from one another._

" _Their enemy… Magneto, was it? He exploited this."_

_Surely. Much as others had seen that he would._

" _Others?"_

…

_**6+ Months Ago** _

If Nick has to stand and listen to this bullshit for one more minute, he's going to have a migraine for the rest of the day. As it is, he's sure his head is going to be pounding straight through lunch, and that's annoying enough.

"Hill," He finally spits, irritated and totally done. "Cut the line."

"Yes, sir," She says over the indignant, angry reactions of the Council, which are cut short very quickly.

When the room is finally quiet, Nick lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders drooping just slightly. What a goddamn day. Hell, goddamn year. This has never been an easy job, but ever since Loki arrived on the scene and the Avengers came into existence, it's been one bureaucratic headache after another.

"They have a point, you know," Hill mutters, standing arms crossed behind him. "It worked once, but that was a very close call and a damn lucky shot. Now, they've all gone separate ways, and none of them seem all that interested in getting the band back together." Hill hesitates, not because she's nervous, but because she wants to emphasis her meaning. "They aren't a team, sir."

No, they aren't. Nick knows they're right – what the Avengers did was proof that this Initiative could work, that his plan could work, but it wasn't solid. Scientists can't perform an experiment once and run off and publish their work after all. Repeat performance is the key.

After a moment, Fury lets out a quiet sigh, leans forward onto the railing and hangs his head.

He knows this can work, the glimmers of greatness are in these people, and they shine even brighter when they come together. But it isn't perfect. Each is a bundle of issues and problems spikier than a cactus, headstrong, recalcitrant, powerful people with powerful personalities. This is more than risky, it's a disaster waiting to happen.

But he knows it could work, and if it does, it may just be the best thing to happen to the world in quite a long time. Because the world needs heroes, now more than ever, especially given the conflicts Fury knows are on the horizon.

They can do it. They have to do it. They just need… a little push.

"Hill," He says finally, lifting his head.

"Sir?"

"Write up some invitations." Fury starts as he turns and begins striding from the room.

"For what sir?"

Answering without faltering in his walk, the Director says, "We're having a funeral."

" _This… director, he arranged to bring them together?"_

_It has always been his belief that a team of heroes such as the Avengers could do much good for the world. Yet, as he saw then, and as we have seen since, they have not yet become the team they can be, that they need to be, to act as defenders of Midgard._

" _Was it then they came to live together?"_

_No… that would be some time yet. Only Bruce Banner, the Hulk, and Tony Stark, the Iron Man, came to live together at that time. Which was fortunate, given the timing of the Brotherhood's first attack against Stark._

" _The Brotherhood being Magneto's people."_

_When they learned that Banner had come to live with Stark, they attempted to kill Stark and summon the Hulk, so that the other Avengers would blame him for Stark's death. It was, instead, the Hulk who protected him from harm, and this crisis is that which brought all the Avengers together._

" _Yes, I remember. You summoned Thor to alert him of it."_

_And once again, Nick Fury aimed to bring them to remain as a team…_

_**The Night After the Brotherhood's First Attack** _

"Sir, we've found it."

Spinning around, Fury strides quickly from his place in the center of the heli-carrier to the computer where his officer has pulled up valuable information. The officer looks confused, glancing from the screen to the Director.

"Sir, uh… are you certain this is the information?"

"Don't question my methods, officer, I get enough of that from everyone else." The Director mumbles, looking it over. "Very good. Send it to my office."

"Yes, sir."

As he quickly saunters away, Fury allows a brief smile to come over his face. He'd had a hunch about that project of Stark's, but hadn't been sure. Now, he has proof, and it is exactly what he needs.

Stark is one of the greatest variables in this project of his. He's volatile, anti-social, carries around a ten ton weight of issues and traumas, arrogant, reckless, and bad with authority - especially authority figures in red, white, and blue who come too damn close to reminding him of his father. Stark could make or break this team, and handling him has been difficult.

But, given what Fury's just found out, it looks like Stark wants the Avengers to work out as much as he does. Why else would he build a house that big, with that much variation, specified so directly to the five people he calls teammates? This is perfect – because it's just the place the Avengers need to be able to live together and finally connect as a team. And, best of all, it means Tony Stark wants to be part of that team.

It seems there is hope for the Avengers, yet.

_It was certainly never easy for them. Each so very different and suffering a different kind of pain, attempting to understand and come to know one another, and more often hurting each other as they did so._

" _Who does that sound like?"_

_Thor and Loki did come to mind. As children they were very opposed._

" _Sometimes I wonder if that opposition truly faded as they matured… or if Loki simply learned to keep it out of sight."_

_Your youngest has certainly been acting strangely these last months. It was he, after all, who resurrected the Son of Coul._

" _And brought Thor to Midgard in their hour of need. I cannot understand him anymore, cannot imagine what is going through his mind…"_

_The mortals have had that trouble, as well._

_**The Night After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't** _

When he manages to finally make his way down to the interrogation room, Bruce finds Steve standing outside the room, watching through the glass. He comes up to stand beside him, peering through himself, to see no less than twelve SHIELD agents, all of them armed, in the room with Loki. Fury is in the center, making demands and asking questions, but Loki isn't even looking at him.

"Has he said anything?"

"Not a word." Steve sighs. "They even offered to let him go see how Thor's doing, but he just laughed. I don't get it. First he's ready to level the planet, now he's helping us out. And this back and forth with Thor… guy's messed up in a big way."

"That's an awfully nice way of putting it." Bruce sighs, crossing his arms.

"How's Tony doing?"

"SHIELD put him on a helicopter straight for the mansion. He should have a replacement reactor and be up on his feet in the next day or so." Saying those words sends a thrill of relief through him every time. To think they came so close to losing him, to think the only reason he's alive is because of Magneto… "And on the subject of bad guys being strangely helpful…"

"Magneto."

"What's with that?" He frowns, the name sending a rumble of anger through him, and he hears Hulk growl.  _It's all right, big guy, we're just talking_. "He's been trying to kill Tony for months!"

"All I can think of is Prof. Xavier." Steve shrugs, glancing away from Loki for just a moment. "They were old friends, after all. Maybe he convinced him to stand down."

"Hm." Bruce isn't so sure – to have been that full of conviction, that ready to kill in the name of a cause, only to stand down because a friend asked him to? "Maybe." He looks into the cell. Loki hasn't even blinked, let alone said anything. "What are they gonna do with him?"

"With Loki? Or Magneto?"

"Both."

"I'm not sure what can be done, with either of them." Sighing, Steve lifts a hand to rub his brow. "At the moment, Magneto's got leverage over us. He's the only one keeping Tony alive, and we can't throw one of McTaggert's power repressors on him without compromising Tony." When his hand falls he looks back up into Loki's cell, eyes half closed from exhaustion. "As for him… apparently he's been banished."

"What, from Asgard?"

"It came down the grapevine somehow, apparently. He's not allowed back, and they don't care what we do with him."

"Great," Huffing, Bruce frowns, another burst of anger rising. It's not a threat, not a risk that the Hulk will come out… it's just a feeling. And he's allowed to feel it. "They're dropping their problem child on us."

"Not just him."

Surprise widens Bruce's eyes, even as he spins back towards Steve. "Thor, too?"

"He sprung Loki free, after all. Twice. Poor guy." Another sigh, followed quickly by a yawn. "He risked everything to help us, lost his home, his most prized possession… saved my life... though I can't imagine why."

"Cap!"

"No, it's… you should've seen him, before. We fought pretty badly." Shame and embarrassment have lit up Steve's cheeks, and he turns away as he talks. "I screwed up, and got his brother hurt when he came to help us. I couldn't bring myself to trust either of them, and now they've both saved my life, and the planet."

"You had every right to be skeptical of Loki, Steve." Bruce reaches out and puts a hand on Steve's shoulder. "And I'm sure Thor will understand. He thinks the world of you."

"He did. I'm not sure he does, anymore."

_If I may ask, my Queen…_

" _Why did my royal husband banish them? I asked the same of him, and to me he said, Something had to be done. He could not be seen favoring our children after so many major, repeated transgressions of our laws."_

_Yet, he has placed Thor right where he wishes to be, and Loki with him. I must wonder if this is truly a punishment…_

" _As do I, gatekeeper."_

"What about you?" Steve says suddenly, a few minutes later. "Why aren't you with Tony?"

The question sends a shiver of anxiety through him. The image of his departure, being lifted into a helicopter, IV in his arm, blood and bruises all over, kept alive only by the fickle hand of their enemy… it was nigh impossible to let him leave, and stay behind.

"He asked me to stay."

"Oh. That's…" Steve hesitates, clearly struggling. "Weird."

"We, kinda, um," Flushing red, Bruce lowers his head, lifts his hand to his face – only to remember he isn't wearing his glasses, so he can't adjust them. They were destroyed hours ago. "Something happened before all this started, and I think Tony's a little… stressed by it."

"Is that why you were fighting?"

"What?" He turns, confused, then remembers the house. "No, that was all Magneto. This was… before that." Heat floods his veins as he remembers with vivid clarity the quick, fervent kiss they'd shared that night. How warm Tony was, how bright, the way his voice had grown so thick –  _please believe me, please believe me…_ It seems so long ago, now.

"You know how he is. Personal stuff makes him nervous."

Steve doesn't ask anything else, which is a relief. Because the more he thinks about it… the more Bruce starts feeling nervous himself.

" _This Magneto… What became of him?"_

_Much what you would expect. He was arrested for his crimes, but was not detained for long._

_**Three days after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't** _

It's hardly a surprise when he reads the paper one morning and sees that Eric has escaped. It was inevitable. He is much too powerful, and the authorities too woefully unprepared, for any prison to keep him. What does come as a surprise happens a few hours later, when Xavier is preparing for his afternoon class, and is suddenly blown away by the presence of a mind he has not felt in decades.

Throat dry, Charles lifts his unsteady hand and reaches out for Wanda. 'I believe your father is here to see you.'

In reply he hears her laughter. 'I don't think it's me he's looking for.'

He was afraid of that. Though he'd known that, in taking in Pietro and Wanda, seeing Eric again was only a matter of time, he didn't think it'd be this soon. And he'd never imagined in all his years Eric would ever remove that infernal helmet around him.

Charles moves into the backyard where he sees the children have already vacated the area. He doesn't see Eric at first, but that hardly matters. He can feel him, know him, a heavy thrumming potency demanding his attention. But then he sees the tall, lean figure standing imposingly in the center of the courtyard. Long cape billowing behind him, his helmet tossed aside to the ground.

"Eric, you…" Charles is deeply touched by this, more than he can say. So he broadcasts it in such a way that Eric will know if he wishes to. He'll know that this brief gift is something he will treasure for the rest of his life. A momentary fulfillment of long repressed emotions and desires denied.

"Hello again, old friend."

"Hello," He can't help but laugh at the absurdity. "What brings you here? I would imagine the authorities would look for you here first of all."

"Let them." He steps closer. "I do not fear human authorities."

"No, you never have." And he has never had reason to, even now. Humankind is now better armed than ever to take down mutants, dangerous or otherwise, thanks to McTaggert and her research. McTaggert, who is even now resting in the mansion behind them, basically in a coma, trying to recover from an injury no one has ever seen the like of. There is little Xavier thinks he can do for her, but he will do all he can. And this time, he does so with her permission granted.

When he comes back from his thoughts on his old friend Moira, he finds his other oldest friend, Erik, standing right in front of him. "I needed to… wanted to explain myself, to you."

"You don't owe me an explanation, Erik." Oh to say that name. Yes, it stings and burns, but it's bittersweet. "Whatever this mission against the Avengers was, it's over." At least that is what he hopes.

"Don't I?" Erik's voice is sharp, acerbic almost, when he retorts, as if they're arguing ethics or morality like they did in the old days. "For dragging you into this, for allowing your people to be injured? For being so damn distant for so long?"

Ah, and here is the root of it all. Forty years of silence. Decades of distance and uncertainty. An abrupt, sudden end that left them both adrift. Unbidden memories surge to the surface of his mind, and undoubtedly Erik can feel them, too.

Now, with nothing to stand between them, Charles suddenly knows. All these years, he's lived in isolation, in silence, made lonely by his position, his role as teacher and leader, playing a part which left him cold and alone in bed at night. And here, too, he sees Erik has done the same – played the militant, the instructor and the leader, a role which took a strength and hardness that left him alone as he'd always been. Even his children, born of – a human, Charles realizes and lets the knowledge stun him – even they keep their distance from their father. Their choices have brought them to this.

"It's alright, Erik." Without the helmet, Charles is inundated with all that is in his mind. The pain and anger of his youth no longer pushed to the boiling point, but resting at a constant simmer in the back of his mind. In addition there's guilt, regret, sorrow, loss, grief, endless grief, and decades of solitude and loneliness. So much regret. "We were young, we both –"

"I left you," He says suddenly, voice tight and thick, head hung long so his white hair falls over his eyes. Erik doesn't have to see them to feel that he is starting to cry. "Bleeding and broken on the beach, and I left you, surrounded by our enemies!"

"And I all but pushed you away, Erik!" He has thought so long on this, on that moment. He still believes Erik was in the wrong to kill those people. With the clarity of age and time, he knows now why Erik felt he had to, he understands. And he realizes what it was that kept Charles from reaching him, the foolishness of trying to tell a concentration camp survivor not to blame men following orders. But more than that, it was their farewell, their brutal goodbye, that led to their parting. "You tried to reach me and I pushed aside your hand. I was – angry, and I acted like a fool."

Erik shifts, and Charles can see his eyes now, looking down at his chair. "I hurt you."

"Inadvertently, yes." In more ways than you will ever know, he thinks. But he can't put that burden on his friend, can't let him know. This reunion is already on rocky footing. "Just as I have inadvertently hurt you. It seems that is all we've ever done."

A bitter laugh escapes Erik then. "Yes, that much is true." For a tense moment, they are both quiet, still. When Erik lifts his head and breaks the silence, his eyes are dry and his expression grim once again. "I still believe much as I always have. I may not be as… militant, as I was in my younger days, but neither am I so foolish to believe that all this…" He gestures around them, not to the garden or the mansion, but the atmosphere, the world which now knows about them. The reaction which is building and building and ready to burst. "… will not bring about blood."

"I'm not so foolhardy to believe it won't, Erik." Charles starts, feeling them falling into the old comfortable dialogues. "But I cannot believe that all mankind will stand rigidly against us. The Avengers have already proved you wrong on that."

Chuckling, Erik shakes his head, a smirk rising to his lips. "Well, then. Where does that leave us?"

Charles doesn't answer. He simply looks upon him. Upon the aged face within the shadows of which he sees the bright eyes and firm lines of a tortured brooding young man, a man with the soul of a poet and the anger of a vengeful god.

"Charles," Erik finally says. "I never meant to hurt you."

Who reaches out for who, Charles cannot say, but then they're holding hands, and it is a relief, and a shock. His voice trembles when he speaks. "Nor I you, old friend."

They laugh, their voices fragile, and weak, but they are here, holding hands and talking. This is the calm before the storm, he knows, and he can feel it building all around them. What the future holds he shudders to think. But Erik is here, and suddenly the world no longer feels so very cold.

"Do you have some time?" Erik starts again. He begins to walk, still hold Charles hand, and Charles feels his chair begin to move without his intervention. He smiles.

"I believe I could afford to take some time to myself." He replies with a smile.

"Good," Erik grins. "I'm taking you to lunch with a friend." The man must feel the confusion rising in his mind, because his grin widens and he continues. "There's someone who is very excited to see you."

And it hits him – and his chest tightens with nervous joy. "Well, then," He starts, mouth dry. "Let's not keep her waiting."

_For good or ill, Magneto has escaped his confines, and returned to his brethren. A great conflict is on the horizon. Now that they have been revealed, they will be challenged, attacked, and maligned. But the combined might of Erik Lensherr and his Brotherhood, Charles Xavier and his X-Men, and the support of the Avengers will not be so easily deterred._

" _The Avengers assist them?"_

_Yes, quite passionately. Stark Industries has begun an outreach program, devoting much time and energy to the support of Prof. Xavier's efforts to raise awareness and start a political movement for mutants. There is talk of bringing a mutant into the fold of the team, as well, though their chosen candidate must first convince her father to allow such a thing. It is slow going._

" _And how have the Avengers fared in these troubled times?"_

_Well, in most cases, recovering given time. But not all their numbers have… Come through so easily._

_**Two weeks after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't** _

Clint has half a mind to turn around and leave the office the moment he enters the room. He knows what this is about, and it comes as no surprise. It was inevitable actually. Given everything that's happened… He's surprised it didn't come sooner.

In the old days, he would've left already. In the old days he wouldn't have come at all. Going to the doctor on a regular basis is bad enough, but a psychologist? No way in hell. What could a shrink tell him that could possibly help? He's seen it all before. People who want to help but don't know how; people who take a sick enjoyment out of dissecting the pain of others. In the end, it just causes more of a headache.

So why is he here today? The $1,000,000 question. Scoffing, Clint stands and begins to pace the room. He wishes he knew. Up until an hour ago, he was determined to stay home, where he's been for the past two weeks, hidden away with Coulson and Tasha and the rest of them. They've been staying in this fancy old hotel, courtesy of Stark, hidden away from the eyes of the world. SHIELD has come and gone, hardly leaving them alone, banging on the doorstep every hour, not to mention the press, but the Avengers themselves had hardly moved. And damn who can blame them, they just saved the world again.

Clint's been postponing this, dreading it, and he's not the only one. In fact he thinks every team member has been bugged by somebody to go see a shrink, but so far he's the only one to give in.

He knows he's gotten pretty messed up. Always has been, nature of the job. But these last few months… He can't imagine hell has anything on what his life's been. But he's never been one to go to other people for this kind of shit, because that kind of bleeding heart BS only ever ends in trouble. He has enough pain to go round to not go asking for more.

A knock at the door has Clint jumping out of this skin, proof enough that he's not quite himself. Nobody on the team is, but an argument can be made that he's been the worst off the longest. So here he is. Probably making a huge mistake, but at least he's giving it a shot. After all, he did give somebody a promise that he'd start trying.

As the doctor enters the room, he remembers that promise vividly. That night after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't as they've all been when calling it, standing in the midst of chaos yet overwhelmed with relief, he and Agent Phil Coulson had a long overdue heart-to-heart. In the hours that followed, anger, tears, joy and sorrow were all felt to the fullest extent. It was hard. Painful like setting a bone, or cleansing an open wound, but certainly cathartic.

"Mr. Barton," he hears the psychologist start. "I'm surprised to see you here. I was certain it would take at least more than a week and a half to lure you in here."

"Yeah, well," Clint shrugs. "Me too." She laughs at that, and says something back that Clint barely hears. He's still in his memories, remembering a night not long ago that was both the end and the beginning. So much has changed and will continue to and sometimes when he stops and thinks about it, it's terrifying. Five years ago he could never have imagined this, none of it.

They sit, they talk, time seems to fly. She asks him all the usual questions. Shit about his family, friends, love life, 'how do you feel'. Eventually they get to Loki, and all the weird shit that he somehow managed to get himself into. Mind-control, super heroes, gods and aliens and dead friends coming back to life. Figuring out that maybe friend was in exactly the right word. Not knowing what to do with that. Not knowing what to do with anything.

"Do you think of yourself as a hero?"

Clint opens his mouth to answer, and can't seem to find any words. He's not sure what to say. The truth probably sounds a little pathetic. He's never felt like the hero; he's never felt like much of anything. At his best, Clint was a good agent, a tool to be used, not valuable and easily replaced. This did with the Avengers wasn't about being a hero, he was simply serving his function, following orders. There's nothing heroic in drawings arrow and letting them fly because it's his job.

She smiles at him, and it seems they're done for the day. Tells him to consider the question and try to respond next time. As he leaves, Clint goes back to that memory. The night after the end that didn't end, when the world was over and they were all still alive.

"We all have our own lives," Coulson started. "Sometimes, we're lucky enough that they intersect, but there's never a guarantee that tomorrow won't be the last time that happens."

"What are you on about?"

"I can't be the center of your universe, and you can't be mine."

How did -? The security footage. Of course, because SHIELD records fucking everything.

"Look, I didn't mean – I'm not" Nerves jangling up and down his spine, Clint had tried equivocating, giving any explanation but the real one. "Just don't worry about it. It's my problem, I won't bother you with it."

"That's not what I meant." Standing, Coulson had moved in front of him, kneeling until they were eye to eye. "Human beings do desperate things to survive. I'm not blaming you for clinging to what you had, but times have changed. You may not see it, but it's not just you and me against the world anymore."

"Yeah, there's Tasha too."

"You have a whole team at your back now Clint. You have a home. Most of your life, you've lived for reasons outside yourself, for the mission, for your team. It's been hard to watch but I'm sure it was harder to live through. All I ask is, try placing yourself at the center of your universe."

At that time, he laughed. It sounded ridiculous and practically impossible. You had to be someone to matter, to love yourself like that. Clint's not sure he can do it.

But, hell, he's tried more ridiculous and impossible shit before, for less important reasons. They could put his face on the 'I'd do it for Klondike bar' ads. So he's gonna give this whole self love thing a shot (and make a lot of terrible jokes about it).

If not for himself, then for the friend he lost, then found, then almost lost again - the friend he made a promise to. And maybe eventually, given time, he might learn how to do it for his own sake.

_There is still a long road ahead of all of them._

" _But now they have one another."_

_Yes. They will not have to make the journey alone._

" _And how do you believe they will fare?"_

_Given the events of these last few weeks, I am certain they shall pull through._

" _What of Jane Foster? You have not mentioned her."_

_She is alive and well; and, by equal parts her choice and his, no longer Thor's chosen._

_**12 days after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't** _

It's after her first cup of coffee one morning in the aftermath of the end of the world that Jane realizes it's time to go.

She and Thor have talked, time and again, since the end, well, ended. It hasn't been easy. They all still carry the weight of their wounds, from both on and off the battlefield, and the air's been thick with tension that has never really faded. Something's changed now.

Before, there was a silent unsteady peace, an unspoken agreement to let certain things lie. Problems which seemed too big to tackle, issues which were always being pushed aside for another day. The team constantly seemed too rough, too unsteady, and it only seemed the risk of falling apart was too great to try addressing the cracks coming through.

Now, those cracks have become canyons, those problems for another day into disasters in the now. It's clear they can't function as they were, if they were ever really functioning at all. They all seem to realize it. But no one seems to know how to even begin. For the first few days, they were separated, each being treated for injuries, or reporting what had happened. It was easy to ignore what would have to be done. But since they've left the SHIELD heli carrier, the Avengers have acted less like a team, and more like morose, grumpy teenagers, trying their best to avoid one another, despite the fact they're all staying in the same house together.

Or at least, almost all of them.

"Dr. Foster?" Jane glances up at the ceiling, the only response she has to give for JARVIS to reply. "Your escort awaits you at the door."

Cringing Jane stands and picks up one of her luggage bags. Part of her hopes it's Thor, but she knows this will be easier if it's not. They've already said their goodbyes after all. Full days and nights just talking to each other, recognizing what went wrong, remembering the good times. Saying farewell with their eyes, their lips, their bodies and souls. Jane Foster will always love Thor, to the Moon and back, but relationships can't be built on love and passion alone.

So, she's going her own way. SHIELD has offered her a job, a fantastic one, doing what she does best. Finally, she's really being recognized for what she can do, for her discoveries, her abilities. Though it means leaving so much behind, disappearing into a lab and perhaps never coming out, she has to take this chance. This is what she wants.

"Coming!" Picking up a few more bags and throwing one or two over her shoulder, Jane starts for the door. She's not sure whom she's really expecting, but she can say she would never have thought Director Fury himself would be standing there. "Oh," she murmurs stunned. "Hi there."

He's not in his usual dark garb, though he is wearing black. Fury is adorned in a nice suit, a gestalt grey tie around his neck. This could almost be a dinner date, except Jane is certain she'd know if it was a little sooner, she thinks. Then she wonders, does Fury even date? She realizes and she knows next to nothing about him, but then, that's how he likes it after all.

The super spy cocks an eyebrow at her, glancing at her luggage. "Need a hand?" He reaches out to take some from her and she lets him.

"I didn't think I was important enough to merit a visit from the director himself," Jane begins, before realizing she hasn't even said hello. "Not that I'm not thankful, I mean, it's just a little odd-"

"Don't go panicking on me," he interrupts, holding up a hand. "This isn't a test or anything." There's a little smile on his face, and it surprises her to see it there. "When it comes to the Avengers I've found it's better to handle things myself."

"Am I an Avenger?"

"I'd say so." They start heading for the elevator, Fury in the lead. "You might not be out there bashing heads in, but you've been pulling your weight like the rest of us. If you can manage to build an Einstein Rosen bridge for earth, then the world will owe you more than all the Avengers combined."

A nervous laugh rises on her throat. "I'm not so sure about that."

They move through the rest of the house in silence, passing unnoticed out the front door. Jane's already made her round of goodbyes. There really weren't that many to make. The car out front is an old Cadillac that's seen better days. They pack her belongings into the back, Fury takes a seat behind the wheel, and off they go. So ends Jane Foster's stint as the partner and friend of the world's greatest super heroes; not with a bang or a whimper, but steady, solemn silence.

She wonders for the thousandth time if she's not making a mistake. What she's giving up others would kill to have. What's she seen, what she's been a part of, is an experience unlike any other. So why is she walking away?

"Feeling all right?"

"Yes I'll be fine," Jane insists quickly.

"That's not what I asked." They pull onto the highway, gaining speed. "Sure, you'll be fine, given a day or a month, probably more than that. But right now, I'm guessing it looks like the world's fallen down around you, and it probably feels like shit."

The frankness of it takes her by surprise. In a way it's refreshing, and she can't help but laugh. "Damn right it feels horrible. I'm probably an idiot."

"What the hell for?" Fury laughs, too. "For ending a relationship with a guy whose interests, life style, and cultural norms just don't mesh with you? A guy who, if he isn't up in the magical rainbow in the sky, he's across the world fighting bad guys? The first time he left earth, you didn't see him or hear from him for a goddamn year!"

Well, when you put it like that… "I guess I just should have tried harder to make it work." She thinks of her mother married to the same man for 20 years, her high school sweetheart. Of her brother and sister, happily married, one with a kid on the way. Of holidays and family reunions spent listening to the questions, when are you getting married? Is there a man in your life yet? Of lonely nights spent brutally aware of the emptiness next to her in bed; of sexual romps which left her momentarily satisfied, and dismally disappointed come morning.

Maybe she just thought that finally she was finding what everyone said she was supposed to have. Maybe she clung to it so hard, not because she wanted it, but because she wanted to want it.

"It was supposed to be perfect, wasn't it?" She continues, voice shaking slightly. "Practically a hand wrapped fairy tale ending. A prince falls out of the sky right into my lap, and now I'm leaving him."

"Life isn't one kind of story, kid, - it's all of them, all the time, and it's always changing on you." Fury has his eye trained on the road, barely glancing at her, yet Jane feels he can see right through her. "Some days, you'll be stuck in the middle of a tragedy watching the world drop out under your feet. Other days it's a sit com and the good times keep on coming. But it never stays that way. So, your fairy tale ended. It happens. Doesn't mean there isn't another one coming around the corner."

The longer the Director speaks, the lower Jane's jaw drops. When he's done, she can't help but laugh again. When she does, he turns and looks at her, his expression a mix of his own amusement, and indignation. "What? Did I say something funny?"

"Sorry, just – I never in my life would have imagined having this conversation with you, um, sir."

"And why not?" It's sharp, but Jane realizes it's supposed to be playful.

"Well, you're – you're the director of the most powerful spy organization in the world, not a therapist. … you aren't a therapist are you?"

"Hell, I should be. I do enough of it anyway." He sighs as they pull in to the airport. There's no check in, no baggage claim, no public jet. The little plane on the runway waiting for them is just for her, and whoever has been assigned as her body guards. The perks of working for secret government organizations.

Silence falls again as they pull closer. But Jane is gnawing at her lips, turning his words over and over. A thought is bubbling up, and comes out, unbidden. "Growing up, you… they always tell you love only works a certain way." She hears Fury hum in agreement. "The handsome knight, the beautiful prince, riding off into the sunset… I always felt… wrong, for not wanting that."

"And what did you want?"

Another laugh, this one nervous and quiet. "I don't know. I guess I just – I wanted sex, and love, and to have fun, and it didn't matter if it was a prince, princess, or whatever the non-binary term might be, anybody at all – I just wanted someone."

"Non-binary?"

Color rises to her face. "It's, um – it's a –"

"Part of the transgender identity spectrum." Fury says for her. "I know. I only ask because not too many people outside certain circles know about it."

She turns to look at him, but all she sees is his profile. He's still facing the road. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm in those circles."

"Have you told anyone?"

"Thor knows." Nervous, she clenches her hands in her lap. "It's one of the reasons this was so hard." How many times has she started dating someone, only to have them react with anger and revulsion once they learned more about her? About her identity, about her life?

"I can see that."

"Are you…?"

"No," He shakes his head. "But there are SHIELD agents who are. You're not alone."

Well, she thinks with a shy smile, that much is heart lifting, at least.

They fall quiet once he parks, moving out of the vehicle as SHIELD agents begin unloading the car. Fury's voice switches to authority as he walks her to the plane, explaining where she's going, what she should expect. Fury shakes her hand, wishes her well, and stops at the bottom of the ramp into the plane. She's halfway up that ramp when she hesitates, and turns around.

"What about you?" Jane asks suddenly. Fury cocks his eyebrow, head inclined forward in question. "Have you reached the fairy tale part of your story yet?"

For a moment, Jane gets to enjoy the look of pure shock on Nick Fury's face. He covers it quickly, straightening his posture, meeting her eyes. "That's not a possibility for me."

Frowning, Jane turns all the way around. "Why not?"

Fury gives a little sigh, his expression dropping, as if exasperated. "Everybody's got their own story, but we're all part of a bigger story too, and we have roles to play. Who I am – who I have to be – doesn't allow for certain… aspects… most people get out of life." He glances away for just a moment. "There's no fairy tale ending waiting for me."

"Well, I hope you're wrong." Jane finds herself saying. She's really not sure what to say to such candid, raw honesty. "Because you deserve one. It seems to me you're always helping everybody else find theirs, after all."

Fury smiles, very briefly, and then turns and begins sauntering away. "Goodbye, Dr. Foster." Then he's gone.

" _He seems a good man, this Director."_

…

" _Heimdall?"_

_Yes, I – yes. I do believe he is a fine man._

" _How does she fare in this new work of hers?"_

_She fares well, and all the more for meeting her new body guard._

_**Three Days After Jane Left the Avengers** _

"… here is your room, Dr., and your office is down the hall…"

"Yes, thank you!" Spinning, Jane gives as bright a smile as she can manage. "Thank you, but I think I can manage from here." The officer nods, and in the next moment he vanishes. As soon as he's gone Jane huffs and collapses onto the nearest chair, slumping downward. "Oi."

What a rough few days. She's not sure how much time she spent in the air, but it was too much, and then having to go through so much paperwork and security checks and organizing… ugh. She is tired to the bone, and all she wants is to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Well, she also really wants to see her lab so much, but exhaustion comes first.

She's halfway to her bed when there comes a knock at her door. "Damn it all to hell," She lets out quietly, then decides, fuck it, she's going to pretend to be asleep. If she lays down quickly and quietly and doesn't respond, maybe they'll –

"Okay, look, I know it was a long-ass flight, but I promise I don't have any papers for you to sign, I just want to say hello!"

Jane is immediately on her feet and at the door in the next instant. "Darcy!" She looks as if she's barely changed, still with the same bright smile and half-moon glasses and thick hair. God, she's gorgeous. Hopefully she'll take the flush in Jane's face as joy and not anything else. "Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

She holds out her arms, and Jane notices for the first time that she's wearing a SHIELD uniform. "Haven't you heard? I've moved up in the world." Smiling, she drops her arms. "I took that job offer Coulson gave me."

"Wait, you work for SHIELD?"

"Sort've." She shrugs. Jane steps aside to let her in, and she explains as she enters. "I'm not a legit agent, but I work for them. Since I'm basically an expert in working with superheroes and shit now. I have 'field experience' because I had lunch with Thor at a diner once."

They both laugh at that, bubbly and full of joy. Jane can't keep a smile off her face. "That's awesome! I'm so happy for you!"

"It's pretty great. Mostly I just tell people what to do. And I take a lot of classes, too, How to Save World 101, Intro to Super Spying, you know."

Giddy and elated, Jane can't suppress a giggle. "I can't believe this! And I thought I was going to be all alone up here."

"No way," Darcy smiles in response, appearing to be just as joyful as Jane feels. The look, and her tone, and the words she says, send a comforting heady feeling of warmth spiraling to her head. "Not while I'm around."

" _She is well, then. I am glad of it."_

_As is your son. They still speak quite often._

" _Is he still in recovery?"_

_No, he returned home three days hence…_

_**Three Days Ago** _

Peggy Carter's grave is near the top of a sunlit hill, a plain, simple tribute bearing her name, her rank, and the long years of her life. Steve thinks she'd of liked it. He, on the other hand, is somewhat dissatisfied. After all she did for them, all the lives she helped save, all she receives in memory is an ordinary grave, a footnote in history. Eclipsed in the shadow of Captain America, like so many others.

Who is he to receive all this acclaim? He had the easy part. To play a role, to inspire, and then to let himself fall. It was people like Peggy and Howard who had the hard part, who worked and struggled and bled to protect the people. They didn't have his powers, but they were so much more than he could ever be.

"Hey," Steve begins hesitantly. "I, uh, I brought you flowers." He holds out the bouquet, as if she can see him. "I'm sorry it took me so long." Kneeling, he sets the flowers in front of her grave, lingering to let his fingers trailed over the words on the stone. "I guess I just… Didn't want it to be real."

But this, this is very real. Proof that Peggy really is gone. They all are. His team, his friends, his whole world… All in what felt like the blink of an eye. Everything and everyone he knew and loved just gone. Evaporated into thin air, with Steve left behind.

"I'm sorry." Steve's hand shakes as he pulls away. Sorry for failing everyone, sorry for being so useless, sorry for being the one history will remember even though he doesn't deserve it. "I'm sorry I never made our date."

Behind him, he hears grass rustle with the heavy tramp of footsteps. He ignores it. "I'm lost, Peggy. This is so out of my league… This place, this modern age, it doesn't need me. I don't have anything to offer. I thought maybe with the Avengers, I could do some good. Instead I constantly screwed up, dragging them all down with me, and I almost damned the world doing it. I don't belong here. In fact I… I'm not sure I ever really belonged anywhere."

Steve has always been a burden: to his family, to his country, to Bucky. Always needing help and protection, with nothing good to give in return. When the war started, he wanted nothing more than to carry his weight, to stop being useless. But even after receiving the serum, all he was, was a trained monkey, a puppet being played by his strings. It was only when he joined the Howling Commandos that he found a semblance of belonging. It was wonderful, and all too good to last.

In this new century, daily life has become a war itself. A struggle to get up in the morning, to feel something other than the great loss and bitterness burning in his chest. Being with the Avengers was a constant struggle, but it made him feel alive, like nothing else. For a while, he had a home, family, and…

"Oh, Thor," Steve whispers, raising his hand to cover his mouth as tears build in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"I believe your people would say, 'that's my line'."

Steve is on his feet in an instant, spinning round to see a tall, familiar form blocking the sun. He's in jeans and a tank top, two week's worth of stubble on his face, lit up by a warm, friendly smile. In this light, he looks very much like the god he supposedly is.

It stalls his thoughts and sends his heartbeat spiraling upward, after a brief moment where it felt as if it had stopped entirely. Steve opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He tries again, with the same results, unable to move past the shock of seeing Thor here, of seeing him at all.

Thor must feel the same way, because he's not saying a word. His smile widens, eyes bright and warm, and Steve feels a lump rising in this throat. Then he remembers. Quite suddenly, it all comes back, their terrible farewell, Thor's miraculous return, the rifts that have arisen between them.

"Thor, I… I'm so sorry, I never should have - " He's cut off before he can finish by Thor's raised hand.

"You are not to blame, Steve." Thor drops his hand. The expression on his face is heartbreaking in its sincere regret. "Your leadership and instruction has been instrumental in keeping us together. It was my thoughtlessness, my arrogance, which divided us."

"You were doing the right thing!" This is ridiculous. How could Thor not blame him? How could anyone not see that it was Steve's failure, his inability to adjust and adapt as quickly as the future demanded, that led to the Avengers downfall. Thor was only trying to help, and Steve refuse to listen. Refused to let go of his own position, inflexible and archaic, just like Tony always said. "I was the one that turned you away without even trying to understand."

"But were you not right?" Thor looks incredulous, gesturing wildly with his arms. "You were correct to doubt the team's ability to work with my brother. If I had considered that, if I had not pressed so needlessly… If I had not hesitated to return…"

"We needed magic on our side. As far as any of us knew, Loki was our only option. I should've listened to you." Suddenly, Steve bursts into laughter, just as the tears start flowing. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

Thor, watching him quietly, ignores his panicked outburst. "Perhaps that is what it comes to. What all of the Avengers struggles come to." Through blurred sight, Steve looks at him, once again overcome by the sheer power in his presence. Even without his armor, he is otherworldly. "We should have listened to each other. From the start."

He's right. Steve knows he's right. But he also can't shake the feeling that even if they had communicated better, even if the Avengers hadn't kept their distance from one another, they still would have failed, because Steve would have failed.

"But I must insist upon taking this portion of the blame." The Asgardian glances away, eyes downcast. "If I had waited any longer, you would have been lost to us, and the fault lies with me."

Steve remembers his utter terror, the cold emptiness of the air as he plummeted towards space… But even more vividly, he can recall a strong grip around his waist, bright eyes blazing with anger and fear, Thor putting him down hard, before taking to the air…

"Why?" He finds himself asking. Inclining his gaze to the ground, he hesitates to say anymore. The question is vague, but he can't find the strength currently to make it any more direct.

The wind whispers through the rows of graves. At his feet, Steve watches the flowers at Peggy's tombstone waver as it blows. He thinks of how terrible it is, to stand in mourning before one lost lover, about to lose another.

Thor moves, his feet entering Steve's line of sight. "Somehow I feel that you're not asking why I blame myself." When Steve refuses to look up, he feels a hand touch his jaw. It doesn't force movement, merely caresses the skin there, encouraging. "Given my behavior, I understand why you doubt me." The pain and in Thor's voice is so thick Steve has to look up. His eyes are narrowed and mouth tight, as if he's restraining himself. Thor's hand moves to cup his cheek, as heat rises to the man's face. "I swear upon all the nine realms, that I will redeem myself in your eyes. Never again shall I give you a reason to doubt my loyalty, and my love for you."

The longer he listens, the more Steve feels his chest tighten, shock and awe growing. But when he hears  _that_  word, all of a sudden the world stops spinning. Everything closes in to a pin point, in which all Steve sees are Thor's glistening eyes and that word, that one word circles round his mind, never ending.

"Thor, you…" Throat dry, voice roughened by emotion, Steve reaches with a tentative opened hand, just barely stopping before touching the other man. "Do you mean that?"

Thor's hand closes the distance and claps Steve's. "Every word."

He's not sure how it started, not sure who moved first, and frankly he doesn't care. All of a sudden they're kissing, the space between them erased, bodies pressed in tight. For a moment Steve feels like he's floating away, before he realizes he's literally rising as Thor's thick arms grip him tight and lift. A sweet high floods his head. This is nothing like that brief, bitter moment what feels like ages ago, this is – this is a promise, a reunion, an apology, an oath, it's passionate and powerful and Steve could swear he felt a current run through them, tickling his fingers.

They break away, heavy for breath, foreheads touching. Steve's gaze falls. Half lidded eyes see the grave at their feet, and a small smile lifts his swollen lips.

"Thor?" The man grunts in reply, one of his hands brushing through Steve's hair, from his crown to the base of his neck, again and again. "Do you fondue?"

He can't help but grin at the bafflement on Thor's face. "Well, I..." The thunderer hesitates, before sighing. "I cannot say I know what 'fondue' is."

They turn as one from the gravesite, arm linked in arm, and Steve feels like a new man. There's happiness and wonder bubbling up within him. All his concerns and doubts have not gone away, but now, now he has something – someone – to cling to. Now, he does not have to face them alone.

"Technically, it's a – a kind of food, I guess, or a way to eat food. But it's also… well, it's a long story." He laughs, remembering those good times past, all the fond memories. It still aches, and it likely always will.

"I would like to hear it, if you wish to tell it."

Smiling, Steve nods as they come to the bottom of the hill. Then he hesitates. For a brief moment, he turns his head, looks back over their shoulders, to the grave where the bouquet lay. It is almost beautiful, the way the wind dances with the grass and flower petals, how Peggy Carter's name is highlighted by the sun. And in that tiny, infinitesimal moment, Steve Rogers could have sworn he saw her, at the top of the hill, hair windblown and her smile bright.

"It was a sort of joke," He starts when he turns away, walking with Thor thigh to thigh. "Between a very close friend and I." When he looks up, Thor is smiling, and seems to be walking on air just as much as Steve is. "I think you two would've liked one another."

And so, as they start walking to the parking lot, Thor reiterates. "I would appreciate the story."

Steve laughs. "It's embarrassing. I made a complete fool of myself."

Thor returns with his own chuckle. "I am no stranger to that."

" _I am proud of him. He has grown so much, and continues to do so. One day he shall make a fine King."_

_Yes, he will. Though I hope that day is far off yet._

" _His companions seem well, considering. But not all of them_ have _been seen. How have the others fared?"_

_The Captain, as you just witnessed, has begun to mend, and Thor with him. I believe their bond shall be all the closer for what they have survived. Clint Barton, the Hawkeye, has kept his promise to seek assistance, and he and his partner have fared well for it._

" _The mortal Asgardian?"_

_A strange situation. His powers have caused him grief, but all considered, he is lucky indeed. Phil Coulson shall survive. He has left his organization, and is with the Avengers now._

" _What of the other agent?"_

_Romanov? She has departed SHIELD as well, but her passing was not quite so smooth…_

_**One Week After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't** _

It has been nearly an hour since her reprimand began, and they still aren't done yammering.

Natasha didn't really expect anything else. The higher ups, her bosses, her co-workers, they've been waiting for this. Whetting their appetite, anticipating this moment, which they all saw as inevitable. Eventually she'd show her true colors, eventually she'd reveal herself for the traitorous, disloyal piece of trash she was. And they were right.

It doesn't matter why she did it, it doesn't matter what for, just that she betrayed them. After all her work, all the years spent proving herself, earning her place in SHIELD – all lost, and for what? The emotionally constipated peanut gallery that was the Avengers? The team that barely even functions as a team anymore? She picked her side, and she saved the world. But it has cost her everything. She'll find a way to be okay with it. She's lost everything before.

Natasha's not actually listening to the yelling, she's just nodding when necessary, appearing to be as contrite as is plausible. Hands behind her back, posture stiff and upright, though she's aching and sore and tired. It's only been a week since all the cards came down and she hasn't stopped. There's been reporting to do, interviews to give, testimonials about her disobeying orders, and she's had teammates to care for, reporters to talk to, calls to make. The Avengers don't even have a damn home anymore. Half of them are in the hospital, the other half devastated by the events of the last month. She's the only one still standing. So, she's handling it.

Thinking back, Natasha considers what would have gone differently if she'd kept her mouth shut. Nothing, really, she thinks. Tony didn't have to know about Rhodey being caught. The team didn't have to know about her and Clint's mission. Yet… she can't bring herself to regret it. One whim, one foolishly emotional decision, and her career is down the drain. All because she didn't want to lie to her friends.

Friends. Natasha almost lets a laugh escape through her penitent mask. Is that what this is? The Avengers, her friends? Maybe. Perhaps they were before. Now, she's not even sure they're working together anymore.

Her thoughts, and the officer's shouting, are interrupted when the door to the room bursts open. Natasha lets out a string of curses in Russian in her mind. Who in the world is foolish enough to enter uninvited into a meeting of some of the most powerful and influential members of SHIELD? Fury, at the other end of the table, looks confused as hell too – but then, he smirks. And that's even more confusing than the bursting into the room thing.

Before Natasha can spin around and see who it is, the person begins speaking, and of  _course_. That's who it is.

"Yeah, uh, hi, sorry to break up the love fest, but I am a busy man and I have been here for practically four hours –"

"Two hours."

"Yeah, whatever – a damn long time, and nobody's even paid me any attention, even though you guys," She hears him moving, can practically see him accenting his speech with his hands, "are the ones who rang me up, and called me over here. So, what's the deal? Do you want to talk business, or do you want to keep shouting at one of the heroes who helped save the world, and in association, all of your miserable asses and the sticks shoved up them?"

There's an uproar then, violent and cacophonous, but it's not aimed at her. It's aimed at him, the man just behind her to her left, who's taking it all with his usual flare. But he's not entering the room fully, not moving into her line of sight.

"Agent Romanov," She lifts her gaze to Fury when he addresses her. There's a glint in his eye, and he looks pleased, which means this was all his doing. It's… startling. And a little nerve wracking. Having other people watch out for her like this. "You are hereby dishonorably discharged from SHIELD. Dismissed." That was strangely quick, too. Whatever SHIELD wants Tony for must be important, or Fury made shit up to get him here. She can't stick around to find out, so she turns on her heel and moves for the door. Briefly, she gets a look at Tony, but he moves just as quickly out of sight. It is not a good sign.

Once she's out of the room, she leaves all thoughts of him behind, concerned only for the reality of now. She has to move, get out of the heli-carrier, get out of the country –

"Natasha!"

She freezes head to toe, frozen by the voice, which calls her name one more time before approaching her. Natasha turns. Before her, Pepper Potts stands in all her Glory, red eyed, pale faced, hair pulled into a messy bun. They haven't seen one another since this all began. She's sure she's not much to look on, either.

"God, I was so worried!" In an instant she's wrapped up in Pepper's arms. "Why didn't you call?"

Guilt strikes her like a knife to the chest. "Been busy," is her weak excuse. She's not sure what else to say. The reality is, letting go is easier when you don't have to say goodbye. "How have the two of you been?"

Pepper glances back towards the room Tony is in. "Pretty much the same. Between rebuilding the armor, the mansion, and the tower, and dealing with SHIELD and the press, it's been an enormous headache."

She nods, unsure of what to say. This was a farewell she didn't anticipate. She's caught unaware, and it's prickling against her skin, the nervousness rising in her throat. It would have been so much easier just to vanish. But that's a selfish thought. Virginia Pepper Potts deserves better than that.

"And how have you been?" Pepper moves closer, a hand rising to her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Bruce took the brunt of Phil's attack." She barely had a scratch on her from that fight, and she doesn't wonder if Phil wasn't somehow, someway, forcing himself to hold back. Fighting for control from within.

"You know that's not what I meant."

The call-out stings, and reminds her of why she's here, what's happening. A loss so great she could never have imagined it years before. The subject of her nightmares in past days. "I'll get over it. I've rebuilt my life before."

"Who said anything about rebuilding?" She moves so close they're practically breathing the same air. "SHIELD doesn't have a say on who's with the Avengers. They can't kick you off the time."

"I'm a liability. SHIELD won't let what I did pass, and eventually they'll come for me. Fury can't keep them at bay forever."

Another hand rises, taking hold of her other arm, and they grip her tight. "And when that happens, the Avengers will be there. They'll have your back. Don't run off, Tasha. Stay here. Let us help you with this." And at those last words, a finger traces the inside of her arm, and the implication is heavy. Let me help you, she's saying, let me in.

Natasha hesitates. Lifts her eyes, meet's Pepper's own. All she can do is nod, but it is enough. There will be no more distance, no hiding or running anymore. She's part of a team. They are a team, her and Pepper. And together, they'll face this down.

"I can't promise I won't do what I have to in order to protect my people." The unsaid implication is heard loud and clear once again. Natasha will do anything to protect Pepper. If SHEILD comes for them, Natasha will bring the whole damn thing down to protect her.

Pepper nods, and smiles. Natasha finds herself smiling back.

" _It seems they have made many enemies in all of this."_

_True, but they have made friends as well, and reunited with friends of old…_

_**A Week after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't** _

General Ross's funeral has an eerie sense of familiarity to it.

That may be because it's in the same graveyard that Coulson's was in, that fateful day months ago. It may also have to do with the fact that, once again, Bruce is standing by a friend, trying to support them with no idea how. Just because he has a new leash on life with his ability to feel emotions more freely, doesn't mean he knows what to do with them.

Betty's been quiet and dry-eyed through the ceremony, staring down into the grave with half-lidded eyes. Bruce knows there's no love lost between them, but he was still her father. They were close, once, years ago. Right now, she doesn't seem all that grieved.

Later, when he finds it in himself to ask her, Betty smiles slightly. "I mourned my father a long time ago. The man they buried today, that wasn't the man who raised me." It's sharp and bitter and deeply sad, so Bruce says nothing else. He tightens his grip on her hand, and hopes it's enough.

They eat lunch at a little bistro near the cemetery, sitting in a lull of silence that begs to be filled. It's comfortable, but it's anticipatory. Finally he decides they've waited long enough.

"What happens now?"

Before, his life on the run and her father's hatred of him were the biggest barriers between them. There were other obstacles, personal roadblocks, but nothing so big to keep them apart – save the first two problems. Now, Hulk is a national hero, and Ross is dead. Nothing stands between them; nothing but tense silence and a table top.

"SHIELD's offered me a job. Hopefully this time I won't get kidnapped on my way there." Betty starts with a chuckle. "I'm not sure if I'll take it. I don't know how… well equipped… I really am for this hero business."

And there it is, the answer. Ross or no Ross, this isn't the life she wants. It tells him what he needed to know, and knowing it, somehow it's a relief. She looks up, eyes wide at his expression. "What?"

"… I don't know. I guess I thought I'd be more disappointed hearing that." He admits. "But I'm… relieved. I'm sorry, maybe that's not something I should say."

"No, no, I understand." Betty replies, setting her fork down. "I get it. Don't think that because of all this you're under any obligation to feel like we should get back together. That's not why I invited you to come today."

"Okay."

"I just… I would like to be friends again." She looks away, biting her lip, eyes half closed. "If you want to try."

A smile brightens his face, and he reaches out to take her hand with no fear of the consequences. "I really do, Betty." She smiles back.

They eat in silence for a while, heads ducked down to the table, worn and weary. Every so often, Bruce glances up, as if to make sure this is all still happening. Hulk is giving off a happy rumble, almost like a purr, in the corner of his head.

"So, how are you and the Avengers?"

He shrugs, unsure of what to say. "Hanging on, I guess." It's been… awkward is the best word. Everyone has been kinda quiet, just trying to navigate around one another without facing each other. Clint won't be in the same room with Thor for five seconds, and Natasha has made being incapable to find an art. And Tony…

"Been rough, huh?" Betty looks concerned.

"Kinda an understatement." A rough laugh escapes him as he sets his fork down. "We didn't exactly save the world through trust and loyalty."

"But you did save the world."

Yes, they did. They did at that.

"I guess we're just… I'm not really sure what happens next. I don't think anybody is." Bruce sighs. "Steve is better since Thor pulled through, but he still acts as if we're going to make him walk the plank or something for "failing" as a leader. Thor won't stop apologizing and looking like a kicked puppy all the time. Clint and Natasha may as well not even be in the house."

"What about Mr. Stark?"

"…" A deeper sigh. "We don't know. Rhodey says he's fine."

"He's not at the house?"

No, and he hasn't been seen by any of them since the almost end of the world. He flew off in that helicopter to his mansion, got his replacement reactor, and… vanished. Bruce sees him on TV from time to time, talking about the "mutant issue", or about repairs to his buildings. But he's never on the screen for long.

"I'm not sure he's on the team anymore." Bruce forces himself to say. Every word hurts. "I mean, he hasn't officially resigned but, he may as well have."

Betty's response is a snort, which takes him by surprise. "I sincerely doubt that." She says in reply. "When I saw him, he was all but waving pom-poms for the Avengers. Building a house for all of you, funding you, supplying you with weapons and upgrades and equipment. And that day I was there he even made us breakfast!"

Yeah, Bruce remembered that. In fact… "Tony was usually the one who cooked. If we didn't order in."

"And I'm guessing he paid when you ordered in."

Yeah, he did.

"Bruce," Betty, leaning across the counter, takes his hands in hers. "I'm not exactly his friend or anything, but I think Tony Stark must really care about the Avengers, to do everything he has for you guys. So I doubt his vanishing act has anything to do with not wanting to be on the team anymore."

Frowning, Bruce looks to the table top. "Then, why'd he run off?"

"Don't know." She replies. "Maybe you should go ask him yourself."

" _What of Stark? Did the last member of the team ever return?"_

_No longer the last, truth be told. They are seven now._

_**One Month After the Apocalpyse-That-Wasn't** _

Rhodey sighs for the fifth time as the elevator door opens. He walks out onto the third floor of the mansion, one of Tony's "spares" that the Avengers have been borrowing, clenching and unclenching his fist. He's not nervous, he's just… tense. Over his shoulders he has two duffel bags, and behind him he's pulling a suitcase. There's more in the car, but it can wait until morning. The drive was killer, and he wants to crash.

And there it is – the knowledge that has him reeling. He's living here now. He's an Avenger, full-time, ordered by his superiors to "report to Captain America", words every military officer has wanted to hear at some point in their life. He is beyond thrilled, he's beaming, there's a skip in his step, and baby animals are probably singing a happy song somewhere. Life is good.

Rhodey can't keep the smile off his face as he comes upon his room. JARVIS opens the door for him, and he thanks him as he moves in, only to hesitate at the sound of voices down the hall. Glancing that way, he sees two broad figures moving down the hall, … holding boxes?

"Hey, Rhodes!" And that is Steve Rogers calling him by his name, like they are friends, like he is friends with Captain America, and for a moment all Rhodey does is stare in shock with his mouth open as Captain America waves at him in his blue and white stripped pajamas. Oh my god, he is seeing Captain America in his pajamas, he is talking to Captain America, this is – this is –

"Are you well, friend?" A hand touches his shoulder with such heft and force he feels it to his knees, and damn Thor is taller in person. Thor is more everything in person. "We have brought your things! Allow me to set these in your quarters, and I shall return to your vehicle and retrieve the rest."

He steps past Rhodey before the words can catch up with Rhodey's stalled brain. "Huh? Wait, no, you don't have to –" But Thor is already gone by then, barreling down the hall half dressed, wearing what Rhodey would have sworn were Harry Potter boxers. But he can't possibly have seen that.

"Don't worry about it, we're happy to help." Steve smiles and Rhodey loses his voice again. This has to be a dream. He stares as the man enters his room and sets the boxes down, putting his hands on his hips and looking around. "Looks like Tony went ahead and decorated for you." Decorations? Who the hell cares what the room looks like, Steve Rogers is in his room! Oh, Rhodey is so glad he didn't say that out loud.

"This was my room when I used to stay over, before the whole Iron Man thing." Then, they both became so busy, they're "sleepovers" as Tony called them happened less and less. It's been… hard… being so distant. Hopefully being on the same team, they'll be able to make up for lost time.

"How is he, by the way?" Steve asks nonchalantly, arms crossed. He's trying very hard to look relaxed but it's really not working. It's… kinda adorable. Rhodey would laugh but this is Captain America. He can't laugh at Cap!

"I think you know the answer to that." Sighing, Rhodey moves towards the bed and sets his things down. "I've been to see him a few times, but I can't get through to him. I doubt anybody can, but Bruce."

"Why Bruce?"

"He's, well… it's…" He's not sure how much he should say. Revealing too much might just push Tony further away, if it got back round to him.

"He told me something happened between them, before." Steve continues. "Is this about that?"

"Oh, yeah." It's about how Tony Stark can't handle being open and vulnerable emotionally and is terrified of being rejected. "He's not avoiding the team so much as he's avoiding Bruce. I've tried to get him to come talk to the man like a grown person, but he won't budge."

"Maybe I could talk to him?"

Okay, that time, Rhodey can't stop the laugh. "I'm sorry, it's just –" Steve's pout just makes him laugh harder. "It's not you. Just – the idea. Tony would move out of the country faster than he would talk to you about emotions."

Now, the pout is a real frown, sad and mopey, like a puppy. It's upsetting, and it's not okay that Rhodey is the one that put it there. "Hey, that's – it's nothing on you. It's just… Tony's kinda got this thing."

"Thing?" Cap looks skeptical.

"About you. Captain America, I mean." Rhodey sits on the bed, feeling exhaustion setting in, trying not to yawn. "His dad was all about you growing up. Telling war stories, talking about his friend Steve, how great he was. He spent so much time trying to find you, he never realized he lost his son along the way."

"Tony pulled a lot of shit, trying to get his dad's attention. He became your devotee as much as his father's, maybe to impress him, maybe thinking he'd figure out how to earn the guy's love and respect if he could be more like you. You were his hero, growing up. The father figure he wanted but didn't have. And now, you're a real person that he can actually disappoint, and that terrifies him."

"… oh." Steve looks worse. "I never realized… I always thought he thought I was an idiot."

"Tony comes across like that." If they're going to talk, Rhodey may as well do something. He stands, grabs a bag, and starts unpacking some. "He really doesn't understand boundaries, or social cues, or… anything about people. But when he cares about you, he goes all out. He might not say it, but he'll let you know it, some way or another."

Now, Steve is smiling, a light blush on his cheeks. "Well, that's… good. I think I know what you mean." Morose mood gone, Steve moves towards the bed. "Can I help you unpack?" He sets his hands on the nearest box, about to open it, when Rhodey remembers what's in it –

"No!" He dives forward, hand covering Steve's on the box. When he looks up, Cap is staring at him like he has two heads. "No, it's – sorry it's just very personal – to me. Unpacking."

"Okay." Steve doesn't seem insulted, just… weirded out. That's better than insulted, Rhodey guesses. "I'll go help Thor carry in the rest then."

"Thanks," Rhodey nods, and watches Steve run out the door. Only once he's certain Steve's gone does Rhodey open the box. There, on the very top, is a replica toy shield, and an action figure, discolored and worn with age. Beneath them are years of collectibles, toys, comic books, clothing, memorabilia from his youth. Rhodey picks up the toy, which looks nothing like the real Cap at all, yet still means something to him after all the years it had kept him company. He only looks for a minute, risking just that long, before stuffing it all back in the box, sealing it, and sticking it in the bottom of his closet.

" _Is that it, then? Rhodes joins the Avengers, and Stark leaves?"_

_No, my queen. It does not end there._

_**One Month, Five Days After the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't** _

Tony Stark sits in his garage, working at his desk, his dinner plate untouched next to him. Pepper must've dropped it by at some point. She's been living upstairs, handling his affairs, a life saver in all meanings of the word. He doesn't know what he'd do without her, her or Rhodey.

It's late, beyond late, and he's tired to the bone, but he can't stop working. He can't stop. Stopping means letting his brain rest, it means all the distractions leaving so that all he's left with are his thoughts. The last thing he wants right now is to hear himself think. That's why the music is blaring loud, why he has so many projects going on, why he hasn't stopped to eat, or sleep, or even breathe in hours, maybe days. He doesn't want to think.

Thinking means letting in all the feelings that have been running through his mind, waiting to be processed, all the events that have happened, all the near-losses, the almost-failures, the pain -

"You cannot avoid it forever," Strange had told him before he left. "Though I know you will still try."

That's another person he hasn't thought about, another thing he's been avoiding. So much he doesn't want to explain, to himself, to anyone. Like why he trusted a complete stranger more than his supposed friends, his team, to help him save the world. Why he went to get the support of a handful of untrained teenagers, rather than the Avengers. Why he's so afraid of letting people in, he almost let the whole world blow up to avoid them.

There's a sudden crash, which Tony quickly realizes was simply him, throwing his tools across the room. So much for not letting the thoughts in. They've been banging on the door for days, fighting to get in, and the more tired he gets, the harder it is to avoid. He's exhausted now, and all he can do is slump down in his chair, clutching his head, burdened with regrets and self-loathing.

Bruce. Oh, what must he be thinking? Maybe he hates him for avoiding him, or maybe for the attack in the mansion. They never talked about it, Tony never explained that it was Magneto, not him. Who would believe that? Who would believe a grown man, an Avenger, was attacked and taken control of in his own home, barely putting up a fight? It's so stupid. Bruce will never talk to him again.

It takes a minute for Tony to realize he's crying, sobbing into his arms, but by then he doesn't care. JARVIS is talking to him, asking if he's alright, but Tony can't bring himself to say anything. He's not alright. He probably won't ever be alright. He had the greatest thing in the world, he had what he'd always wanted, friends, family, a place to belong, somebody who was idiotic enough to maybe love him, and he screwed it all up, like he always does and always will. But this time, he almost brought the whole planet down with him.

He's been hiding here for weeks, building and repairing and drawing up plans. Thinking about anything but himself and his own problems. Avoiding most of the world and his friends, except for Rhodey, Pepper, and JARVIS. Hiding in the dark, hoping all his problems will just go away.

He stays like that for a while, sobbing, hiding in the dark.

_This was a triumph. I'm making a note here – "huge success"._

But there's a noise.

_It's hard to overstate my satisfaction._

It's a song, something from a game Bruce and Tony play… used to play. It was a joke, that he put it as Bruce's ringtone, something they laughed about. Bruce had something similar for him, too, another Portal song, but the one from the second game. They used to laugh about that.

_Aperture Science. We do what we must because we can._

It starts going off, and keeps going. Slowly, Tony raises his head, stunned out of his own misery by something as little as a phone ringtone. He hasn't heard his phone in weeks. No one calls him anymore. Unsure of where he even stashed it, Tony glances around, digs through drawers, and finds it tucked away under a pizza box. It's…

It's Bruce. Of course it is, but there, on the phone, that's confirmation, it really truly is – Bruce.

In all this time, Bruce hasn't called. Hasn't tried to reach him, or talk to him. He's kept his distance. And now… now… god, Tony wants to hear his voice. To see him, talk to him. He stares at the phone, almost caressing it, awed by the idea that all he has to do is push a button and he'll be able to hear Bruce again. But it's a monstrous task. The fear – the idea that it may not go well – that it might be the end… and before he knows it, the phone stops ringing.

"No!" Another jolt of terror shocks him, sends him reeling as he stabs at the phone, hitting redial. No, no, no, he can't have Bruce thinking he was turning him away, that he was ignoring him, no, at the very least Bruce has to know that Tony cares, that Tony will always care, that he will always be there to pick up the phone – so he dials, and puts it to his ear, and he waits, and waits –

_Well, here we are again._

_It's always such a pleasure._

The song, it's… it's in the room, behind him. He turns, phone still on his ear.

_Remember when you tried to kill me twice?_

He ends the call, and the ringtone ends, but he's still there, still standing there in the center of the room with his hands in his pockets, shaggy hair as unkempt as always, glasses half falling off his nose – Bruce.

Tony rises, stands as if to move towards Bruce, then hesitates, falters. But he remains standing, hands half raised as if to reach for the man, stock still in the air. Confused, he glances at the phone still in his hand.

"I wasn't sure you would want to talk." Bruce's voice, breaking the silence, hits him like a freight train. He almost gasps at the force of it, of hearing that voice again, of the reality of being here, with him… "I thought… if you answered the phone, there was a chance." So, then he'd been upstairs. JARVIS must have let him in, must of told him Tony's reaction to the phone going off.

Mouth dry, eyes half closed, Tony mumbles, "Chance for what?"

"A chance to mend this." Bruce gestures to both of them, to the air between them. "Whatever happened to us."

What can he say to that? Nothing, so that's what he does. Keeps his mouth shut. He wants to scream, to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, but it's like he's far away watching this all happen to someone else. He's panicking, his hands are shaking, he has no idea what to do so he does nothing at all.

"I, um," Bruce, who seems as nervous as Tony, takes a hesitant step forward. "I know… we didn't exactly part on the best of terms. I'm not really sure what happened – I know Magneto was involved, and I know it wasn't your fault. I don't blame you for that."

"But, I do know that – well…" Sighing, Bruce glances down, hands still in his pockets. "I realize that you've been more than kind to me, you've given me a home, a new chance at life. You've been…" Looks up, and his eyes are watering, and Tony can't take this, oh god. "You've been amazing. And I have no idea how to repay you."

"You don't have to – Bruce…" Tony holds his hands up in surrender, as Bruce steps closer.

"I want to, Tony. I want to." Bruce continues, his voice evening out. "I guess… you must be upset by what happened, that night. I just want you to know, I'm not going to… to try and make you uncomfortable or make you feel like you have to be something to me to keep me around. I'll always be your friend, Tony."

Wait, what?

"People do things they regret." Bruce starts, looking down. They're barely a foot apart now. "I just don't want you to feel like I – I expect something you can't give. So…" He shrugs, seemingly unable or unwilling to continue.

Stunned, Tony lets his mouth fall open. "Is that – that's what you think this is?" He starts. Perhaps it's just the fact he's talking, or the fact that he sounds like he's about to stop breathing, but Bruce looks up with wide startled eyes. "You think I regret kissing you?"

"Well, I just – I realize it was a vulnerable time, and you take comfort in the physical, and that's okay, so I thought that maybe you thought I was thinking it was more than that, and I – I made a huge ass of myself didn't I?" It must be the dumbstruck expression on Tony's face, because Bruce is letting his voice slow to a halt as he starts to grimace.

"Bruce, you – you idiot." Some of the fire returns to his veins, some of his life is back. How in the world can someone so smart be so stupid? "This isn't – I betrayed you! I turned on you and then instead of going and finding you and explaining like a real boy, I decided to go drink myself to oblivion and then try saving the world with a guy who pulls rabbits out of hats and a bunch of teenagers!" Frustration edges into his voice. He starts swinging his arms around, pacing, letting his anger flow through his body. He feels alive. "I was a complete idiot, I was selfish, and I let that get in the way of saving the goddamn planet!" Now, he turns back on Bruce, who has gone stock still. "We almost failed because of me!"

There it is, right there in the open. They won by a hair's breadth a damn lot of luck, because Tony was too afraid and too self-centered to think about anyone but himself. If he'd gone to the team, if he'd brought Dr. Strange to them and they'd gone after McTaggert together… but no. He had to clam up and retreat and run away like he always does, and try and throw it all together by himself. Fuck.

His hands fly up into his hair, gripping at the roots and tugging, even as anger transforms to panic again. He's still shaking, perhaps also because of the sleep deprivation and hunger, but mostly the panic. He falls into the couch, letting his head fall down, dizzy and shaky and beyond upset –

"Tony," Bruce starts, hands coming over Tony's. "Tony, please listen to me." He feels the other sit next to him, thigh to thigh, and tries not to shudder. "This wasn't your fault, not alone. We all have a share of the blame." Gentle fingers pry his hands off his face, and then cup his chin. Reluctantly, he turns to face the man, finding them so very close he can taste Bruce's breath between them. "Yeah, you ran off, you were afraid of talking to us. So was I. I've been running for years, running from myself, and because of that, Hulk didn't understand what was happening to you. We could have stopped Magneto there, if I hadn't been so damned determined not to let the Hulk in."

No, this isn't – "This isn't your fault, Bruce,"

An exasperated look comes over his face. "Tony, the Hulk had no context to understand – anything. I was so afraid of him, of what he represented, that I cut him out. Now…" Bruce shrugs, glancing down. "Now, we share everything. We're even talking. And now, together, we're not a threat – we're a team. We helped saved the world. And so did you!"

"Wait, you…" Leaning back, Tony looks him over, as if searching for signs. "You and Hulk are buddy-buddy now."

Bruce smiles, and his eyes flash bright green. "Yes, I guess we are. Or we're working on it."

"Oh." Holy shit. "That's… good."

"That's why you've been hiding from the team?" Bruce starts again, leaning closer. "Because you thought you were to blame?"

No, that's not quite – but he can't talk about – he can't say… he… "Sort've." Tony shrugs, pulling away from Bruce. "Mostly, it was you."

Bruce doesn't say a word, doesn't react. Sighing, Tony stands and starts to pace.

"I'm not good with people Bruce. I fuck everything up. Pepper, Rhodey… I love them to death but I've hurt them both so bad. I learned a long time ago that I can't be with the people I love. I don't know how. I love too much, or not enough. I get too close, don't know how to pull back, how to stop. I push and push and – I hurt people."

He stops a sob in his throat, swallowing. "I've already hurt you and Hulk enough. Done enough damage to everyone." To Steve, to the whole team. He's hurt them all so much because he's an asshole and that's all he'll ever be.

"You love me?"

Three words, and they shake him head to toe. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't have to.

He hears movement behind him: Bruce, standing to leave. "If this is really what you want, then I'll respect that." Bruce starts. "But, consider this at least." Move footsteps. "I know you blame yourself for a lot of things, and some of that is deserved. We all have our sins. But, I think you've forgotten some important things, too." He's quiet, for just a moment. "You aren't responsible for what Ross did to me with the weapons he bought from you. But this… this, you are responsible for."

Tony waits until he hears Bruce leave and reach the top of the stairs before turning around. For a moment he sees no change, nothing. Then he notices the little piece of paper on his desk. It's not a piece of paper, actually, upon closer inspection. It's… a napkin. Looks damn old in fact, stained and worn, and… there's some writing in the middle.

 _Chin up, big guy._  It says, followed by a number. It's his old cell number, from ages ago. At least a decade. How…?

Oh. Oh. Oh my god.

"Bruce!"

He barrels up the stairs to the first floor, bursts out the front door, to find…

There is not one Avenger, but six waiting for him outside his front door. Bruce, in front, hands still in his pockets. Behind him, Tony can see all of them: Thor, Clint, Natasha, Steve, and Rhodey. All standing there, staring at him, with… with what? Tony can't really see through the tears in his eyes.

"What is this?" He walks up to Bruce, thrusting the napkin out to him.

"You still don't remember?"

"I…" He thinks so. Yeah, he does. "That can't have been you. I'd remember."

"Apparently not." Bruce smiles softly, gently. He reaches out and takes the napkin from Tony's hands with reverence. "I was barely an adult back then, anyway, just starting out in research. It was a rough spot. Stuff with my family, my love life, my career… it felt like everything was falling into ruin. The first time I "got low"."

Bruce unfolds the napkin fully, looking at it with something like awe. "I was at a conference, and I just felt so alone, so overwhelmed, so useless and upset, I… I went to the top floor and thought about jumping off." He smiles at that, somehow. "But that's when I found out the top floor was a flat reserved for the guest of honor for the event, and I was trespassing. Or so the drunk guy in the Jacuzzi told me."

"I wasn't drunk, I was… okay, I was drunk." He was really drunk, he remembers that. This had been… what, early nineties maybe? Genetics conference?

"That guy," Bruce continues undeterred. "Instead of kicking me out, he made his… very attractive… guests leave, and he sat down with me. Talked me off the edge." The napkin, fully unfolded, is turned towards Tony. "He saved my life that night. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."

There, in the corner, beneath the messily scrawled number, is a name: Tony Stark.

"When I left you that night Magneto showed up, it was to get this." Bruce starts again, ignoring Tony's shocked silence. "I knew you didn't remember, but I always will. I thought it would be good to let you know that… you haven't just hurt people, Tony. You've saved lives. Including mine."

"Mine, too, loads of times." Clint offers up, raising his hand. "Which I am plenty grateful for, by the way."

"We all owe our safety and peace of mind to you, Tony Stark." Thor adds. "You have given us a home, provided us with bedding, refreshment, feasts. We owe you a great deal."

"No, you – you don't – I almost got you all killed."

"I think we all had a hand in the massive fuck up that was the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't." Natasha interjects, which makes Tony groan.

"Please tell me you're not calling it that."

"Too late. That's what you get for not being around to name our successes post-mission."

"Tony," Now, Steve's stepping up, and he feels his heart rising into his throat again. "I know we've… had our differences. And I think we've all made mistakes these past few months, but I'd like to think we've learned from them. The Avengers mean a lot to me. And, while I feel like I haven't been the leader you've deserved…" Words that prompted a chorus of angry refusals and jeers, "I would like to give it another shot. But I can't do it without you – without all of you."

"Why not?" Tony snorts. "You've got Iron Man Point 2."

"Oh, don't you dare," Now Rhodey steps forward, swinging an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in tight, and it's played like a joke but this is protective, defensive. Rhodey's an Avenger now but Tony is his family first and foremost, and that warms the man's quaking heart. "I'm a soldier, not an engineer. We need Iron Man and War Machine, not one or the other."

Tony, finally looking away from the little piece of paper that means so much more than it seems, lifts his eyes to them. "You – You sure? I mean," He snorts, trying to play it for laughs. "I'd think you'd be better off without me."

That statement receives as many outright refusals as Cap's did; and that, that is what brings the smile back to Tony Stark's face. That is what tells him, he's finally home.

" _So, they are all back together then."_

_They are a team now, and all seems to be going well._

_Division X is no more, and Moira McTaggert has been discharged from her post. The existence of mutants is now known, and that is a battle which is yet to be waged. But that is not for some time yet._

_There is much more I would have you know, though the tale grows long, so I shall explain as swiftly as I might. The mutant Darwin has been reunited with his kind, and his friends; he recovers, with close watch by the one called Alex Summers. They share a close bond, which may grow closer yet._

_The one they call Wolverine, he too was reunited with an old friend. Steve Rogers meets him from time to time, to talk and drink. He has fared better with such support from one who knew him before._

_Dr. Strange has gone much the way he came; swiftly, without warning or sign. Where he may be, the mortals do not know, but he keeps watch over them. His duties demand much, but he is a willing and able mage. Midgard is well guarded by him._

_The Avengers have spent much time together, connecting the pieces of their puzzle, reexamining this last mission, and what went wrong. They have grown closer, and realized much. Your son now courts the Captain, and they seem well off together. There is another who holds their eye, but it may be some time yet before such realizations come to pass._

_They are doing well, for now. They trust one another, and though they may not always agree, they speak to one another, as equals, harboring few secrets._

" _Few?"_

_Tis not perfect, my queen. There are troubles which will pain them yet._

" _But that is the nature of all things, and perhaps mortal life most of all."_

_Indeed._

"…  _and Loki. He is…?"_

_Alive. He has found a home, of sorts, as well._

_**Two Months After the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't** _

"You've got to be kidding me."

That seems to be the shared sentiment around the room, if the looks on the Avenger's faces are anything to go by. Well, everyone but Thor, but that's no surprise.

"I've heard a lot of bad ideas in my life, but this… oh, man," Sputtering, Tony doubles over in laughter. "This is – you're serious! Oh my god, this is going to be terrible and hilarious, possibly at the same time."

"We can't keep him," Fury starts. They're standing on the first floor of the new Avengers Mansion, in New York. It's a wide open room, warm and inviting, but for the tension that's exuding from its occupants. "He's escaped more than half a dozen times. We've had him running around the building, acting the imposter, pulling pranks on guards, destroying vital equipment, erasing computer files – he's just fucking with us! But we can't stop him, and it's only so long before he decides to up the ante."

"So, what, you're dumping him on us?" Clint retorts from his corner. He's kneeling on the arm of a chair, perched like his namesake. Sitting beside him is none other than Phil Coulson, who has been very quiet this whole time.

"What else can I do? Our prisons can't hold an Asgardian mage with powers we can't even begin to understand. Even your people aren't sure exactly what Loki's capable of since he came back from space." Thor, expression grim, nods at that.

"Tis true. He outmatches ordinary mortals by far."

"We are superheroes, not demi-god babysitters." Clint tries again, fuming.

"But if we don't take him, who will?" Natasha, leaning against the far wall, looks no happier, but seems resigned to it. "We can take him down. If he escapes from a SHIELD cell, or a federal prison…"

"Ordinary citizens don't stand a chance." Steve finishes for her. His look is firm, and he's made up his mind. "She's right."

"Oh, fuck me." Clint lets his head fall back, and Tony starts to laugh somewhat hysterically.

"That's it, then." Steve turns, facing the whole team, all of whom are gathered though not all have spoken. But all of them look decidedly uncomfortable, even Thor to a degree. "Loki's moving in with us."

" _He is with the Avengers, then. Thor must be pleased."_

_Indeed, though his allies have not been quite so agreeable. Most have ranged from a lack of caring to outright violent intent, neither of which is uncalled for._

" _Yes, he has wronged them greatly."_

_Yet, they have treated him well, all else concerned. He is lucky. And perhaps, he can learn from this._

" _You said he had grown close to a mortal?"_

_Oh, somewhat, but… perhaps I should not say. It is a tale still in the telling, and even I cannot see the future to its end. Permit me to wait a while, and see what comes of it?_

" _Very well. I did mean to ask you to continue this watch. I would know how my sons fare."_

_Perhaps we shall discuss it twice monthly? On every other Saturday? This would work well, I believe, for you and I; and the writer._

" _Who?"_

_Ah, forgive me; I forget the reach of my eyes. Worry not, my queen. I shall watch over your sons._

" _Thank you, Heimdall. I… would see them well."_

_As would I, your majesty. As would I._

**THE END**

**Epilogue**

"These are wonderful."

Steve blushes at the compliment, fidgeting a little. "Not really. It's just a hobby, I'm not that good at it."

"You do yourself a disservice." Thor insists, flipping another page. "These are wonderful. I am honored to have been the object of such skill."

Somehow, the flush manages to grow strong. "Oh, well… I'm glad you like them."

Smiling, Thor looks back up. "Not nearly as much as I like the one whose hand drew them."

This is a moment, isn't it? The room seems so hot, he can barely stand it. Are they… are they getting into something? Is that what's happening? Thor is drifting closer, or maybe that's Steve leaning in –

BOOM.

The house shakes suddenly, like an earthquake cracked the ground open beneath them, and in moments both Avengers are on their feet. Steve barrels for the door, bursting into the hall. He finds Natasha rushing towards the East Wing.

"What happened? Any idea?" He asks as he catches up to her, hearing Thor's heavy strides behind them.

"No idea, I was in the gym when I heard it –"

They turn a corner and find the hall is just gone, a whole section of the house decimated. And in all that chaos, Clint Barton sits in a bathtub that is now cracked and falling to pieces, water draining away, covered only by a magazine that he'd been holding.

"This – this is Loki's fault." Clint seethes, red in the face. "I know it. It has to be."

By now, the others have arrived. Tony's barefoot and holding a bagel in his mouth, clearly having just crawled out of his workshop, while Bruce looks more put together but he's still wearing only one of his lab coat sleeves. Rhodey is in his suit, responding to a possible emergency with militaristic perfection, but now he's just laughing at Clint in the bath tub.

"Ha, ha." The archer snorts. "Laugh it up, asshole."

"Clint," Steve, who is smiling now that he knows there's no danger, nods to the ground. "I think you're blaming the wrong Asgardian."

Of course, he really needn't of said anything. Thor's already jumping down, moving to the crater Mjolnir created with glee.

"This is the third time this month." Tony starts with a huff, taking the bagel out of his mouth. "How in the hell do I get insurance to cover 'destruction by God Hammer'?"

"I have no idea, but please let me be present when you try," Natasha says with a smirk. "I want to watch."

THE END

(Okay, not quite…)

Epilogue 2

Nick Fury is in his robe, settling down to relax and read a good book before bed, when his doorbell chimes. What the hell? He cocks an eyebrow, glancing to the front end of his house. Nobody comes here without clearing it with SHIELD first. Nobody even knows where this place is!

Frowning, he sets the book aside and draws his gun out of the bedside table, moving towards the stairs with quick, steady precision. Then, he backtracks heading to the back of the house, quietly opening the porch door so he can circle the intruder around from behind –

He doesn't get that far. As soon as he opens the door, he's greeted by a stranger in gold armor standing on his back porch. He doesn't seem to have a weapon of any kind, but he's clearly powerful, and he's a big guy to boot. Fury's got his gun on him in half a second, fuming, wondering how the hell this guy got here, who the hell is he –

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing at my house?"

"I am Heimdall, Gatekeeper of Asgard," The man begins, and he – he fucking kneels. The hell? "And I come before you to request a boon."

"A… what now?" Frowning, Fury keeps the gun up, but he is beginning to see this probably isn't a threat. Asgard. Great. Like those immortal assholes haven't been causing him enough trouble lately.

"A boon." Heimdall, whoever that is, asks again.

"Uh huh." Snorting, Fury keeps his gun trained between the man's eyes, which are merely inches away from the barrel of his gun. Is this guy asking to get shot? Would a bullet to the head even kill an Asgardian? For a moment, Fury wonders if he's really in deep shit here, and considers pressing the button on the watch on his wrist that will bring SHIELD down on this place in full force.

"Fear not, I mean no harm. I come not as a vassal of Asgard, or in service to her King, but for my own desires."

"Is that supposed to mean shit to me?" This is very confusing. He can honestly say, with all the weird shit that has happened in his life, having a handsome – and yes he is very handsome – immortal warrior pop up on his back porch and kneel in front of him, well, that's a new one.

"It means that I am only here to speak for myself, and to ask that you grant me an honor which would lift my heart."

Fury keeps the gun right where it is. But he maybe, just maybe, might be feeling extremely out of his depth right now. "Okay. Fine. Ask away." This can't get any weirder right?

Heimdall smiles, the fucker, and the look is radiantly beautiful on his face. "Would you, Nicholas Fury of Midgard, grant me the honor of allowing me to court you?"

Well, damn. He was wrong.

THE END

(For real this time!)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it - after more than a year, we're finally here! The end! *throws confetti*
> 
> I'm a little teary eyed, I'll be honest. But this isn't really the end. I have plenty more about the Avengers in store for you, dear readers, and it will be continued in a story called "Tales of the Heroes of Midgard", which I will post the first part of on 11/23/13. It will be a direct continuation of this story, but in smaller bits and pieces. Less of a long, continual plot, more of a compilation of shorter contained stories that all have to do with each other. Like one shots, in a series. Hope to see you there!
> 
> Thank you, all of you, for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and otherwise participating in this story. I hope it entertained you for a while, and maybe it meant something to you, like it did for me. Thank you so much!


End file.
